


Aftermath

by MiladyDragon



Series: Dragon-Verse: Post-Series Stories [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Angst, Canon Temporary Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Language, Magic, Multi, Post-Avengers (2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-08-23 05:45:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 39,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16613045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiladyDragon/pseuds/MiladyDragon
Summary: The Battle of New York is over.For Clint Barton, mourning encompasses everything he'd lost, including the man he'd loved, and realising he had family that wouldn't judge him for his part in events.For Steve Rogers, it is learning that there are more things out there than just the Chitauri...including the Cybermen and the Torchwood Dragon.Things will never be the same again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back, and John Barrowman is still fabulous in person (Saw him at Alamo City Comic-Con. Got a picture taken with him in hi sparkly TARDIS dress. It was awesome.)
> 
> Here is the next story in the Dragon-Verse, a SHIELD-centric story that takes place after the Battle of New York. A lot of it happens during Phil Coulson's funeral...but we all know he's not really dead, but that didn't mean I didn't get upset writing it. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

 

**_6 May 2012_ **

**_New York Harbour_ **

**_The SHIELD Helicarrier_ **

****

Steve Rogers made his way through the Helicarrier’s main corridor, heading toward the bridge, dodging repair crews and damage easily, apologising to anyone who had to move out of his way.  The Helicarrier was still a mess, but then it had only been one day since they’d defeated Loki.  The airship was stranded in the harbour, its engines still wrecked, and from what he could overhear it would be at least a week before it was capable of flying once again.

The city outside the bulkheads wasn’t any better.  New York had suffered a lot of damage, but New Yorkers were a resilient lot, and as soon as he could Steve was going to go out and help with the repairs.  Then, if possible, he wanted to see this world he’d been reborn into, because it was strange and new and, despite having lost literally everything in the decades he’d been buried in the ice he was excited to see what was out there.

He, too, could be resilient.  But then, he was Brooklyn born and bred.  It came with the territory.

The Helicarrier’s bridge was a mess.  The man he was looking for stood beside a trio of consoles, Maria Hill next to him, her forehead bandaged.  Steve walked right up to them, interrupting their conversation, which was Hill giving some sort of status report.  “Director Fury.”

Nick Fury turned toward Steve, and the super-soldier was a little surprised at how tired the man looked.  There were bags under his one eye, and lines around his lips, which were presently pressed thin. “Captain Rogers.  What brings you here?”  Hill excused herself and left them, moving toward some of the more damaged of the control areas of the bridge.

“I wanted to speak to you about Agent Barton.”

“I should have known.”  Fury pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, I can’t release him until we can prove that Loki’s influence is completely gone.”

Steve had expected that response.  “And just how do you plan on doing that?” 

He’d come to think of Barton as a part of his team.  And if there was one thing Captain America never did, it was leave a man behind when he could do something about it. 

Ever since a group of suited agents had come to collect Barton from the shawarma place where they’d been eating after the battle, Steve had wanted to know what was going to be done with the archer.  It had taken him this long to get to the Helicarrier; all of the surviving Quinjets had been co-opted into relief efforts, and he’d finally had to locate a shipment of replacement parts heading to the airship and hopping a ride.  The pilot hadn’t been about to tell Captain America he couldn’t ride along with. 

Natasha had told him not to worry, that SHIELD wouldn’t do anything to Barton that the man didn’t want done, but Steve had learned that trusting SHIELD – or really, Nicholas J. Fury – was out of the question.  Ever since he’d awakened in a room that had been decorated to represent his own time Steve hadn’t been all that pleased with the organisation’s methods.

There had been one man he’d come close to trusting, but that man was dead.

“As a matter of fact, I’ve contacted someone who might be able to do just that.  She should be arriving in a few minutes, actually.”

That was a surprise.  Steve hadn’t honestly expected _that_ response.  “You mean there’s someone who could have helped counter Loki’s magic and you didn’t call them in right away?”

Fury rolled his eye.  “There wasn’t any fucking time, Captain.  Because this person lives in Wales, and wouldn’t have gotten here in time anyway.  Besides, there was no way I was about to risk her in a combat situation – “

“Fury!”

The Director let out a put-upon sigh at Thor’s shout.  Steve watched as the Asgardian stormed – pun not intended – onto the bridge, anger cracking from him like the lightning he could control.  Thor wasn’t happy, and to be honest Steve thought he might enjoy this.

“That’s my name,” Fury snarked.  “What can I do for you, Thor?”

“Why has my request to take Loki and the Tesseract back to Asgard been rejected?”

Steve inwardly winced.  Ouch.

“It hasn’t been rejected.  However,” Fury held up a hand to forestall any sort of rebuttal, “I thought you might want to put off leaving for a couple of days in order to attend Agent Coulson’s funeral.  You knew him, after all.”

Every bit of anger suddenly left the god, and Thor slumped slightly.  “You are correct.  I do wish to attend such a gathering.  The Son of Coul was a brave warrior…and a friend.  I would pay him homage.”

“I figured as much.  I’m sorry that the agents in charge of security for Loki and the Tesseract miss-represented my orders.  They were supposed to inform you.  I’ll have a talk with them.” 

From the expression on Fury’s face at the mention of Agent Coulson, it really hit home for Steve that the man had been much more than Fury’s Good Eye.  “He was your friend, wasn’t he?”

“I recruited him.  Trained him.  Relied on him.  Coulson was one of the very few people on this planet that I trusted.”

Then, Fury drew himself upright.  “I’m going to meet the Quinjet bringing in our consultant who might be able to tell us if Barton is free of any sort of influence.  Perhaps you’d like to see why I didn’t call on her to join you all in battle?”  There was a slightly sarcastic tone in the man’s voice, but for some reason it didn’t irritate the super-soldier as much as it should. 

“You have people on Midgard who are versed in magic?” Thor was intrigued.  “I, too, would like to meet this person.”

“Then, come on.  They should be landing at any minute.”

With that pronouncement, Fury left the bridge, Steve and Thor on his heels.  Fury would have had a good reason for not calling in this so-called consultant, and not just because of the distances involved.  Yes, it would have taken them hours to get anyone to the Helicarrier, but Fury struck Steve as being the sort of person who utilised every single asset he had available to him. 

As they stepped out onto the cluttered and damaged deck of the Helicarrier, a Quinjet was coming in to land, settling gently down under the motions of the flight deck crew directing it in with their lighted wands.

Fury didn’t even wait for it to fully power down before he was striding up to the rear of the craft.  The ramp was lowering, and the three of them waited for it fully deploy.  Thor seemed to be as curious as Steve was about this mysterious person, craning his neck to get a better look at who was inside the Quinjet.

Once he saw who was inside, Steve knew immediately why Fury hadn’t wanted her anywhere near the battle.

The woman was small, and elderly, her hair a brilliant white, wrinkles giving her mobile face character, and Steve could tell that she must have been a real beauty when she’d been younger.  She was dressed in black trousers, a blue, oversized men’s shirt, and comfortable-looking boots.  Her dark eyes landed on Fury at once, and she gave him a nod in greeting.

Then, she caught sight of Steve, and the smile she gave him took about two decades off her age.

The woman was leaning on Agent Romanov’s arm, Natasha being very solicitous of her safety as they stepped onto the Helicarrier’s deck; Steve had wondered where she’d disappeared to, after Barton had been picked up and she’d given him reassurance that the archer would be alright in SHIELD custody.

The woman patted Romanov’s forearm gently, then stepped forward.  “Director Fury,” she greeted him, her Welsh accent pleasant to Steve’s ear.

“Miss Cole,” Fury returned the greeting, his voice warm.  “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“When Natasha said it was concerning Clint, nothing could have kept me away.”

Fury’s eye tracked to the Quinjet.  “No one else is with you?”

“They’re coming a little later.  There were some things to clear up, first.  They’ll head straight to Washington for the service.”  She turned her smile back to Steve.  “Won’t you introduce me?  It’s not often two handsome men come to greet me.”  It was a teasing sort of flirty tone, and Steve couldn’t help but return her smile.

“This is Captain Steve Rogers, and Prince Thor from Asgard.  Captain…Thor…this is Miss Estelle Cole, the consultant I was talking about.”

“Miss Cole.”  Steve took her offered hand.  It felt fragile in his grasp, although her grip was fairly strong, with some interesting callouses in interesting places. “I wanted to add my thanks for you making the trip.”

“As I said,” Miss Cole repeated, “I’m doing this for Clint.  He’s a good man, he didn’t deserve what happened to him, and I’ll help all I can.”  Her dark eyes had tiny flecks of gold in them, and Steve could tell she felt what her words conveyed.  He wondered just how they’d met.  “And I’d like to say it’s an honour to meet you, Captain Rogers.  My father was in that HYDRA camp you liberated during World War Two, and I’ll be forever in your debt for rescuing him.”

“I was just doing what was right.”  Steve felt a bit uncomfortable at the elderly woman’s praise.  After all, to be honest he’d gone in for Bucky, and saving everyone else had been a bonus.

“And sometimes just doing the right thing is more than enough.”  Miss Cole then greeted Thor.  “Your Highness, it’s an honour to finally meet an actual Asgardian.  I’ve heard so much about your people, from the members of my coven, and it’s nice to know that the old stories seem to be fairly accurate.”

“The honour is mine, Mistress Cole,” Thor said seriously, dipping his head over her hand gallantly.  “It is pleasing to find that the ancient powers still exist among the Midgardians.”

“They do, although unfortunately they are growing weaker every day.  We try to save what we can, but there will come a day when magic will leave the universe…at least for a little while.”

“May that day be long in coming.”

She nodded in agreement.  “I do hope so.”

Thor offered the elderly Welshwoman his arm.  “Will you allow me to escort you to Friend Barton?”

“I certainly shall.”  Miss Cole accepted, looping her hand around Thor’s rather large forearm.  “If there’s time, do you think I could meet Mjolnir?” Her pronunciation was very close to Thor’s own, which was impressive with the Welsh accent.

The smile the Asgardian gave her was radiant.  “I should be pleased to introduce you.”

Steve felt as if he’d somehow stepped through the looking glass.  They were honestly talking about an introduction to a magical hammer?

“If you’d follow me,” Fury suggested gruffly.

“Thank you, Director,” Miss Cole said warmly. She then turned back toward the Quinjet, calling, “Come along, Moses!”

For a second, Steve thought there was someone else in the jet, so he was more than a little surprised when a very fluffy black and white cat darted down the ramp, coming to stand at Miss Cole’s side.

“Your familiar?” Thor enquired politely.

“Yes, this is my Moses.”  She seemed very pleased at Thor’s question.  “He adores Clint and wouldn’t be left behind.”

Moses stared up at Steve, flicking his tail insouciantly, and then turned back to follow Fury.  For some reason, he felt as if he’d just been judged over something. He couldn’t tell if he’d passed or not.

He fell into step on the other side of Miss Cole as they headed down belowdecks.  “Can I ask how you met Barton?” he finally satisfied his curiosity.

She smiled up at him.  “We have mutual friends.  You could say I met him at their wedding.  And, when I learned he had no living family outside of Phil and Natasha, I became his unofficial Gran.  We talk as much as we can over the sub-wave network – “

“Barton has access to the sub-wave?” Fury demanded.  Steve wondered just what that was, because the director didn’t seem very happy about it.

Miss Cole, though, didn’t look at all intimidated by him.  “Toshiko added his parameters to the network, so we could find him wherever he was, as long as he was close to a laptop.  Both Francine and I chat with him whenever we can.” Steve must have looked a little confused, because Miss Cole clarified, “The sub-wave is a specialised computer programme that Director Fury would like to get his hands on, but as it’s proprietary technology, that hasn’t happened.  And, while I may have adopted Clint as my grandson, Francine did the same as his mother.  And it’s a mother’s prerogative to speak to her son whenever she chooses.”

“Indeed it is,” Thor agreed solemnly.  He appeared to be utterly charmed by the elderly woman leaning on his arm.

Steve was discovering more about his erstwhile teammate than he ever thought he’d really know.  The fact that Barton was alone, without family except for what he’d gained when joining SHIELD, very nearly echoed Steve’s own experience in the future.  Losing everyone you knew, and then making yourself a new family…that was something that the super-soldier truly wanted to do. 

It also added an entirely new dimension to his knowledge of Phil Coulson.  He’d only known the man for a short time, but he’d felt as if he could have been friends with the agent, even trusting him despite his feelings about SHIELD.  And, there was Clint Barton, and Natasha Romanov, who’d been close to Coulson; as well as Thor who claimed to have been a friend…and Steve had the distinct impression that he’d missed something very important when Coulson had gone up against Loki alone and hadn’t survived the experience.

His new-found knowledge also made him realise just why Coulson had done what he’d done.  If he’d really seen Barton as family, then of course he would have tried to force Loki to give Barton back, to get some sort of revenge on the mad god for having taken him in the first place.  Steve would have done the very same thing, and he had…when Bucky had been taken as a prisoner of war.  He’d went against orders and had gone into enemy territory for his best friend. 

Steve thought he could understand Phil Coulson a little bit better now, and he also felt he could mourn the loss a little bit harder. 

“Estelle,” Natasha interrupted Steve’s thoughts from her position stalking right behind the group, “when you’re done checking out Clint, I’ll make sure you and he get to Washington.”

“Thank you, Natasha,” the Welshwoman said gratefully.  “I, personally, won’t be attending the funeral.  The dead and I…well, let’s just say the dead like to talk to me, and the last thing any of the family needs is to look after me as well as take care of Phil’s family.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, as they continued down into the bowels of the Helicarrier, “what do you mean by that, Miss Cole?”

“Oh.”  She looked slightly embarrassed.  “It’s just that…I have a sensitivity to the dead.  I understand it’s because of my deep connection to the spirit realm that allows it.  It can be…unpleasant, and I’m quite certain that Phil wouldn’t want me to be hurt by him, even though it wouldn’t have been intentional.”

Steve didn’t even pretend to get magic, but from the head nodding that Thor was doing, the Thunder God seemingly understood what Miss Cole was saying. 

“Perhaps you were a Valkyrie in a previous life,” Thor suggested, sounding quite pleased with the notion.

Miss Cole laughed.  “I would have been honoured if that was true.”

Now they were talking about reincarnation.  Sometimes, Steve almost wished they’d never found him in the ice, because this century had some of the strangest ideas.

They made their way down into the bowels of the Helicarrier, Fury leading the way.  The damage wasn’t quite as bad in this section, and they received some odd looks from the few techs who were moving past.  That was to be expected, really; there was the Director, and Thor, and the Black Widow and, of course, Steve himself; plus, a grandmotherly type who seemed quite content to chat with Thor about magic and reincarnation.  Oh, and the cat, Moses, who had demanded that Natasha carry him, and she had obliged immediately.  The fluffy thing was curled up in Natasha’s arms and, if anything, it actually made her a bit scarier than usual.

Not everyone could pull that sort of thing off.  It didn’t surprise Steve that she was able to do just that.

They eventually came to a stop in front of a door with a keypad next to it.  As Fury keyed in the code, Miss Cole demanded, “You locked him in?” She was outraged by the very idea.

“We didn’t know if Loki’s influence was gone,” Fury pointed out without actually apologising for it.  “We couldn’t risk Barton getting out and possibly releasing Loki from the brig.”

Steve could understand, and from the slump in Miss Cole’s shoulders she did as well.  “Alright, Director, I see your point.  But I don’t have to like it.”

“Neither do I,” Fury said, “but sometimes we have to do things we don’t like, in order to protect people.”

With that final word, the Director punched in the last code, and the door opened.  Miss Cole immediately entered, which had Fury rolling his eye at her, but Steve wasn’t so sure he agreed with his obvious irritation at her need to get to Barton.  After all, she was his family in a way, and who didn’t want to help someone they were close to?

The room beyond was a plain, almost cell-like space, with a bunk and a single, hard-backed chair bolted to the floor.  There was also another door which Steve assumed led to a bathroom, but other than that the space was completely bare of any sort of personality.

Clint Barton was curled up on his side on the bunk, his back to the door, and he only moved when Miss Cole called his name, tears choking her voice.  Barton sat up, spinning toward the door, and Steve gasped at just how rough he looked.  He was still wearing his field uniform, and it was still covered with dirt and grime.  The cuts on his face had at least been cleaned, but he was pale and his eyes were red-rimmed, as if he’d been crying at some point.

Those eyes widened when he took in the elderly woman standing there, her hands covering her mouth.  “Estelle?” he gasped, his voice hoarse.

“Oh, _cariad,”_ she sighed.  Moving faster than Steve would have guessed, Miss Cole was sitting on the bunk and pulling Barton into her arms, kissing his temple and comforting him in a way that the archer so obviously needed judging from the way he clutched at her. “I’m here now, it’s going to be alright.”

Barton shook his head against her shoulder, but even with this better than average hearing Steve couldn’t make out what he said to her. 

Moses let out a pained meow and was out of Natasha’s arms and up onto the bed, insinuating himself between Miss Cole and Barton.  For a spilt second Steve thought the cat was trying to separate them, but the loud, rumbling purr disavowed him of that notion immediately.

“Let us leave them in peace,” Thor murmured, in a voice that was not at all like his usual, boisterous, tone. 

“I’m not leaving her alone with him,” Fury denied.

“Estelle can take care of herself,” Natasha said, “but I’m staying anyway.”

“Fine,” the Director huffed.  “But I’m locking the door.”

The Widow shrugged, but said nothing.  Steve got the impression that she could get out of that room anytime she wanted.

To be fair, he also believed that _Barton_ could have, as well, and was only staying because he wasn’t sure of his own mind at the moment and _wanted_ to be contained.

Without another glance, Natasha had the door closed, blocking Barton and Miss Cole from view.  Fury entered whatever code that was needed to re-lock the door.  “Come on,” he requested, “we can watch from the security suite.”

Thor frowned.  “I am not certain that spying on Mistress Estelle and our Shield brother is a thing well done.”

Steve wasn’t so sure, either.  He was positive what was going to happen in that cell would mostly be personal.  But, at the same time, they did need to know if anything happened, so they could act quickly. 

Fury didn’t say anything to that effect, however.  Instead, he strode down the corridor, not looking back as if he was perfectly confident that they would both follow.  Steve glanced at Thor, who didn’t seem at all to care for the Director’s attitude.  “The Son of Coul would not have acted with such disregard toward a friend’s privacy.”

Without commenting to that – although he had a feeling the Thunder God was right – Steve went to follow Fury, Thor beside him, disapproval rolling off his teammate like dark storm clouds.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

**_6 May 2012_ **

**_New York Harbour_ **

**_The SHIELD Helicarrier_ **

 

The relief Clint had felt when Estelle had shown up in his cell was something he would never be able to put into words.

He’d been left alone nearly the entire time, except for the medical personnel who’d come in to check him over, their disapproval of him evident in their impersonal treatment of his injuries.  He’d also been dehydrated – Loki hadn’t much cared if Clint needed sleep, or fluids, or even food – which had led to an IV that the nurse hadn’t been all that careful in placing.

Not that he didn’t understand why they weren’t being gentle.

After all, Clint had led an attack on the Helicarrier.  He’d taken lives under Loki’s control; some of those agents who’d died would have been friends or acquaintances of the doctors and nurses who’d been sent to make sure he didn’t die.  Although, the archer wasn’t so sure they would have much cared if he had.

He didn’t blame them.

Mainly because he blamed himself.

If he’d been stronger, perhaps he might have thrown off Loki’s control.  If he’d been able to do that, people wouldn’t have died.  Phil wouldn’t…

No, he couldn’t think of Phil.  Not yet, anyway.  That pain was just far too sharp, like a knife stabbing him in the chest.

That wasn’t right.  He’d _been_ stabbed before, and the pain of this loss was infinitely _worse_.

Clint loved…him.  Had with everything in him.  They’d drifted apart, because of the needs of SHIELD and of missions that had been taken separately.  It wasn’t anyone’s fault; it had just happened.  And then there had been Audrey, but Clint didn’t have it in him to hate her for taking his lover away, simply because she hadn’t.  The _job_ had.  Audrey had been an attempt at gaining a little normality in a life that was hardly ever going to be really normal, and it had ended up failing. 

It didn’t mean that Clint hadn’t loved…him…any less.  He’d just wanted…him…to be happy, and if that was with Audrey Nathan, then Clint could be fine with that.

But then, at Pegasus…

No, going there made the agony worse, because it could have been the start of their second chance, if Loki hadn’t come through the Tesseract and stolen Clint’s very soul away.

Clint had lost track of time as he’d lay there on the bed, letting loss and shame eat at him like a cancer.  At one point, the nurse had come back in and removed the IV, this time a little more gently than when it had been put in while giving him a sad, understanding smile, and had left him something to eat.  He’d attacked the food with a single-minded hunger, even though the macaroni and cheese had tasted like ashes in his mouth.

The tray had been collected, and Clint had been left on his own once more.

He hated being alone, not with his brain digging up _what if’s_ and _what might have been’s_ and with nothing to distract him.

Until the door had opened to reveal Estelle and Nat…and Rogers and Thor, with Fury standing just off to the side of the door.

Clint had ignored everyone but the woman who’d adopted him as a grandson, almost at first sight, at the mating of a dragon and an immortal in a magical valley in Wales. 

“Estelle?” he croaked, not having spoken since he’d been escorted to this cell.   

Her hands had been covering her mouth, sadness lurking in her eyes.  “Oh, _cariad,_ ” she whispered, and in seconds she was sitting on the bed next to him, and he was falling into her very welcome arms.  She kissed him on the head, and murmured, “I’m here now, it’s going to be alright.”

He shook his head as the tears flowed once more.  No, it was never going to be alright.  He’d done something terrible, and nothing would ever be the same again.

“I killed him,” he mouthed into her shoulder as his tears soaked into the fabric of the blue shirt she was wearing.  “It’s all my fault.”

And then, Moses was with them, pushing into their embrace, his fluffy face rubbing against Clint’s chest, the loud purr soothing him in ways the hug wasn’t.  Moses was accepting him, just as Estelle was accepting him, and for the first time in days Clint felt like he was finally _home_.

Another set of arms looped around from the back, and without looking Clint knew it was Natasha.  He relaxed even further, letting two of his favourite ladies in the entire world comfort him, needing it like he needed to keep breathing.

He eventually pulled away from Estelle.  “I got your shirt wet,” he sniffled, a little ashamed of himself for breaking down like that.

Estelle gave him a watery smile; he wasn’t the only one who’d gotten overly emotional.  “It’s one of Jack’s; I’m sure he won’t mind.”

Clint couldn’t help the laughter at that admission from tumbling out.  “He might not, but Ianto certainly will, since he’ll be the one to do the laundry!  And how did you get one of Jack’s shirts, anyway?”  He should have noticed the faint scent of Torchwood’s immortal’s pheromones on the cloth, but to be honest his nose was a bit clogged up from crying, and the shirt had obviously been washed at some point.

Estelle’s eyes were twinkling merrily, and Clint couldn’t help but smile at it.  He might have been hurting, but there was something about the older woman that cheered him up.  “I can’t help it if Jack left it at my house the last time he and Ianto came over to help out in the garden.”

“I don’t think anyone could actually _stop_ Jack from taking his shirt off,” the archer snorted.

“Well, _Ianto_ could…if he wasn’t busily enjoying the view!”

Clint was so very glad for her.  “Thank you for coming.”

Estelle gave him such a loving look that Clint couldn’t help the blush that warmed his cheeks.  “Clint, I love you.  There was no way I was going to be kept away.”

“Francine felt the same way,” Natasha piped up, her hands rubbing Clint’s shoulders comfortingly.  “It was just that we didn’t want to take the time to stop in London to pick her up.  She does want you to call her when you get the chance, by the way.”

Clint was so pitifully grateful for both Estelle and Francine Jones.  Almost from the moment he’d met either lady, they’d accepted him as if he really was their family; that had been reinforced when they’d discovered that he had no family he could claim.  It had been weird at first, because Clint had had no experience whatsoever with mothers and grandmothers who wanted to coddle him, but he’d learned to accept it, and to eventually want it more than almost anything. 

There’d been one thing he’d wanted more, but that was impossible now.

“I will…if I can ever get cleared to leave here.”  He waved his hand vaguely about the cell they were in.

Estelle favoured him with a fond look.  “That’s why I’m here.  To certify you as yourself again.”

Certainly, Clint felt as if Loki was gone.  Mainly because he wouldn’t have felt so shitty if Loki was still in control.  All of the lives he’d taken while that bastard had his hooks in him, and there wasn’t a damned thing Clint could do to make things better.

SHIELD had been his home for over two decades.  Now, he wasn’t sure he could stay any longer.  Not after this.

The problem was, he didn’t really have anywhere he could go.  Who would want to be around him, when he’d been so easily controlled?  Who would trust him ever again? 

He didn’t realise he’d said it out loud, until Estelle rested her hand on his cheek.  “Hey,” she murmured, staring him right in the eyes, “I trust you.  I love you, _cariad_.  You will always be family to me.”

Clint flushed.  “Sorry…”

“Don’t be.  It’s going to be fine.”  She gave him a little smirk.  “We need to talk, but I think we need a little privacy first.”  Her eyes flashed gold, and there were five little poofs, one right after the other, as the surveillance gear that Clint had been aware was watching him imploded, as well as a golden line appearing around the door jamb, sealing them off from the outside world. “There.  That’s better.  No one will eavesdrop or interrupt us now.”

He could feel Natasha’s silent laughter through their contact.  “Fury is going to be so pissed at that.”

Estelle sniffed.  “And I care how much?”

That earned the elderly woman a snort of audible laughter from Natasha.

The archer rolled his eyes, although he couldn’t deny that it felt really good not to be watched any longer. 

“Now,” Estelle settled back, taking the hand that wasn’t busily stroking Moses in hers.  “First of all, none of that ‘who will trust me’ nonsense.  You have me, and Natasha, and Francine… as well as every single one of the Delawares, and the entire Torchwood Institute in your corner.  Ianto wanted me to reiterate to you the offer of a place on either the Cardiff or London team, although if you ask Francine for her opinion she’d try to talk you into London, as would Patrick and Alice.”

The sudden lump in Clint’s throat threatened to choke him.  He had to clear it away before he could speak, “But I killed…I killed _him_ , Estelle.”  He still couldn’t say the name; he felt as if he’d lost the right.

“It was Loki, Clint,” Natasha said forcefully.  “Loki is responsible, not you.  You were under his control, and I _know_ you fought as hard as you could.”

“It wasn’t hard enough.”  The doubt and the self-recrimination rolled back over him like a wave, threatening to drown him in sorrow.  “I gave him the information.  I arranged the attack on the Helicarrier.  I did all that…”

“Because Loki ordered you to.”  Estelle’s eyes were suddenly fierce.  “And, if I could, I’d go and give him a piece of my mind.  But, Clint…mind control is a terrible thing.  It makes us do things we’d never do normally.”

“Listen to her,” Natasha urged.  “When you brought me in, did you blame me for all of the programming that had gone into making me a puppet at the whims of my controllers?”

Clint frowned.  “Of course not.”

“Then how do you expect me to blame you for what you were forced to do?”

He could hear what she and Estelle were saying.  It even made sense.  But there was still the mind/heart divide, where his mind told him that they were absolutely right…and his heart mourned the people his plan had been responsible for killing.

“It’s going to take some time,” Estelle said kindly, “but there are quite a few people who will keep on reinforcing that until you believe it. You have an entire family, just ready to help you in whatever way they can.”

Clint did the only thing he could. He hugged Estelle once more, so very glad that she was there.  Sometimes he just needed someone to pound some sense into him, whether it was through a good talking-to, or those few times when it was a physical pounding he needed.  Natasha usually handled the physical stuff, while Phil did his talking it out shit. 

Yeah, it still hurt very badly to even think his name.

“Now,” Estelle went on, “let’s check you over so we can all get out of here, alright?”

“Okay.”  Clint took a deep breath, ready for whatever Estelle was going to do. 

It wasn’t just to be able to get out of that tiny room.  Clint _needed_ to know if there was any sort of influence still there, or else he would be second-guessing every action he took from now on.  He would doubt himself – well, more than he did now – and it would paralyse him.  He would never be able to make any sort of decision without wondering if it was prompted by something that Loki left behind in his mind. 

He couldn’t live like that.

Estelle took a deep breath of her own.  She let go of his hand, shifting a little so that she could reach into her trouser pocket. 

The witch handed him a clear crystal.  “Hold that,” she directed.  “One hand will do; I think, if you stopped petting Moses, he’d retaliate by doing something that you might regret, and his claws are awfully close to somewhere quite sensitive.”

The cat made a half growl, half rumble sort of noise, and Clint didn’t need to be told that Moses wasn’t at all happy with his mistress’ comment even if it might have been true.

“Yes, yes,” she chided her familiar, “I know you wouldn’t hurt Clint.  Now, let him love on you while I take care of this.”

Moses, already curled up in Clint’s lap, settled even further, resting his head on the archer’s knee and closing his eyes in contentment.

“Should he be doing that?” Clint asked worriedly.  “I don’t want to hurt him myself…”

Estelle made a dismissive noise.  “Honestly, I don’t think you have a thing to worry about.  Moses has a very good nose for magic, and if he’d smelled something off about you he wouldn’t be so comfortable.  Still, let’s get in there and make absolutely certain, shall we?”

Clint nodded.  “What do I do?”

“Hold onto that crystal.  Natasha, you might want to sit back a little…I don’t want to accidentally ‘read’ you as well.”

There was a shifting behind Clint, and Natasha appeared around the end of the bed, where she could more easily watch proceedings.  He was glad she was there, just in case.  Clint would _really_ never forgive himself if he somehow hurt either Estelle or Moses, and the Black Widow could stop him if he needed stopping.

Estelle reached out and clasped the fist that held the crystal, which was warm in Clint’s hand.  As he watched the woman he considered his grandmother, Estelle’s eyes swam once again with gold, and he found himself unable to look away.

The hands holding his grew warmer, even as the crystal grew colder.  Clint could feel the warmth from Estelle spreading up into his arms and his chest, dislodging the chill near his heart that he hadn’t even been aware of until it was gone. 

Then, the very pleasant warmth curled up into his neck, and Clint could feel it creeping around from the back of his head and through his brain and forehead, and finally to flash through his very eyeballs.  He heard Natasha gasp, but it was a faint thing, under the soft chanting that Estelle had started, in a language that the archer couldn’t interpret.  All the while, she kept her gaze on him, and the crystal became colder and colder, until it took every bit of his willpower to keep a hold of it.

Finally, after Clint didn’t know how long, Estelle smiled, and she took her hands away from his.  The gold vanished from her eyes, but somehow Clint remained warm, although it wasn’t as intense as before.  “Open your hand,” she instructed.

Clint did so.

The crystal, which had once been as clear as ice, was now a very faint blue. 

Clint marvelled at it.  “Is that…?”

“It’s the remnant of Loki’s magic.  There wasn’t much, and I doubt you would have even known it was there, but it’s good that it’s gone.  There won’t be any reason for you to doubt your actions this way.”

“Fury might want you to do that to anyone else that was touched by Loki’s staff,” Natasha said.

“If he asks, it won’t take too long,” Estelle assured her.  “I can even use the same crystal, since they most likely have the same barely-there taint as Clint did.”

Clint sighed roughly.  “Then, it’s over.”

“Yes, dear,” Estelle smiled softly.  “It’s over.  Now, I’m afraid it’s time to say goodbye to Phil.”

He didn’t want to, but Clint knew he _had_ to.  He’d never get closure if he didn’t.

There was a tiny part of him that felt he didn’t deserve closure.  He didn’t deserve the home that was waiting for him.

But he didn’t think he was strong enough to turn it down.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

**_6 May 2012_ **

**_New York Harbour_ **

**_The SHIELD Helicarrier_ **

 

The security suite was just down the hall from the cell where Barton was being kept.  It was possibly the cleanest room that Steve had seen so far on the Helicarrier, with a bank of viewscreens along one wall and desks under each one.  The majority of the chairs were empty; one had a SHIELD tech officer seated at it, in the usual plain uniform of a SHIELD grunt.  Standing behind the technician was a curvy redhead in a black trouser suit, dark red blouse under the plain jacket.

In her hand, was a bloodied piece of cardboard.

Steve recognised it instantly, and wondered just how this woman had gotten a hold of one of Agent Coulson’s ruined trading cards, because that was what it was.

“Agent Noble,” Fury greeted in surprise.  “I wasn’t aware you were here.”

The woman – Agent Noble – slid the card into her jacket pocket, turning to regard the Director.  She had striking features, her pale eyes slightly red as if she’d been crying not that long ago.  “Director,” she returned.  “I caught a lift with a Quinjet coming up from the Triskelion.”  She had a British accent; if Steve had to guess, he would have said she was a Londoner.  “Someone had to be here for Clint, too.  Although, I see you brought Estelle in.”

“Made sense at the time.”  Steve wanted to boggle; Fury actually sounded _fond_ of the agent, who was now giving both himself and Thor a thorough going-over with her rather piercing gaze.  “Captain Rogers…Thor…this is Agent Donna Noble.”

Agent Noble grinned, but it didn’t touch her eyes.  “I had no idea I was gonna be introduced to two such handsome men.”  She offered her hand.

Steve took it.  “And you know Agent Barton?” he enquired.

“I’m…I _was_ ,” she said, her voice suddenly choked, “Phil Coulson’s PA.  I worked with him for about three years.  I know Clint because he and I are friends, and in fact he basically got me the job.  We met during a dust-up with a particularly nasty alien race calling themselves the Daleks, and it was a real mess, let me tell you.”

Steve was going to ask what ‘Daleks’ were, but Thor spoke before he could get the question out.  “The Daleks are a scourge of the Multiverse,” he intoned.  “You and Hawkeye have had dealings with them?”

“We worked together back when the Earth was transported by the Daleks halfway across the universe.”

Wait…what was she talking about?  How was that sort of thing even possible?

Thor was nodding.  “Heimdall lost sight of Midgard for several hours once.  However, the planet was returned, although not before the Nine Realms were disrupted by its loss, and it took several months to heal the damage.  You are saying the Daleks were responsible for that outrage?”

“Yep.  They wanted to use the Earth as part of a reality destroying scheme.  But we managed to kick Dalek arse and get the planet back to where it belonged.  Of course, we had help…”

The Thunder God was looking at her with something close to awe.  “You and the Hawkeyed One are great warriors indeed if you aided in the defeat of such a terrible enemy.”  He grinned.  “I would sing with the bards the songs of your great victory!”

“No one’s actually written any.  It being top secret, and all that.”

“That is a shame.  I shall see to it that this is rectified when I return to Asgard.”

Fury was pinching his nose in what was obviously despair.  “So much for operational security…”

Agent Noble rolled her eyes at him.  “Like an alien space god isn’t gonna know about the Daleks?”

“Well, the so-called ‘alien space god’ might,” Steve cut in, “but supersoldiers from the 1940’s don’t.” He didn’t like how Thor had made it sound.  They’d just dealt with the Chitauri; he needed to know what these Daleks were and how they could be dealt with as well.

Agent Noble opened her mouth to say something, but the tech at the security console interrupted her with a sudden swear word.  “The cameras inside the holding room have gone down.”

Fury said an even harsher curse word, and was halfway out of the room when Agent Noble called him back, “You really think Estelle is gonna let you get into that room before she’s done with whatever she’s gonna do?”

He didn’t look happy, but he stopped his storming out.  “I fucking hate magic,” he growled, almost slamming the door in his anger.  He stood against the closed door, arms crossed, and Steve didn’t think he’d seen Fury quite as angry before.

“You should’ve expected it,” Agent Noble continued, sounding just a little smug.  “Estelle’s an overprotective Mama Bear when it comes to Clint.  She’s going to protect his privacy, damn the consequences.  Besides, she can take care of herself, and she has Nat in there in case something _does_ happen.”  Her eyes narrowed.  “Oh, but you were hoping to be able to listen in on what they talked about, no matter how bloody personal it was.”

“I need to know what Barton told Loki.”

“And you know he was willing to share that during the debrief I know you had with him while waiting for Estelle to show up.” 

Steve watched both of them go back and forth, shocked that this woman was standing up to the man who was ostensibly her boss.  However, he got the distinct impression that Donna Noble would always tell it like it was, and damn the consequences. 

She sighed.  “Look, Director…I understand your need to keep people safe, and you’re concerned about Clint and what he might tell Estelle.  But you also know that she has one of the highest security clearances in the world, so no matter what Clint might spill, she’s trustworthy.  So I’m not really getting this pissed-off attitude you’re showing at the moment.”

For the first time since Steve had met Fury, SHIELD’s Director looked…tired.  Like he hadn’t slept in days and was nearly at the end of his endurance.  His shoulders slumped, and he leaned heavily against the door, blowing out a breath as he dropped the façade he usually kept up for his employees.  It said something about the relationship between these two that he was willing to do it, just on Agent Noble’s confronting him.

“Okay, you want to know the truth?”

Agent Noble’s eyes lost their fire, actually going a little soft with fondness.  “I think I already know it.  You’re worried that Clint might do something to try and follow Phil.”

Steve’s heart thudded painfully in his chest, and he couldn’t help but notice Thor’s solemn expression.  “Does Hawkeye know the Son of Coul that well?”

“Yeah, he does,” Fury admitted.  “They worked together for years.  Coulson was Barton’s handler until…”

“Until they became closer than that,” Agent Noble finished.

Oh.

One of the many things Steve had learned about the future was its more relaxed stance toward same-sex relationships.  Personally, he thought it was about time; after all, back in his day he’d been the one to harbour feelings for both his best friend and his best girl.  So, hearing this from Agent Noble wasn’t as much of a surprise as it could have been.  After all, he’d seen how Barton had fallen apart when he’d been told about Coulson’s death.  It only made sense in this context.

“Then my sorrow at my brother’s actions is doubly heavy,” Thor murmured. 

“They hadn’t really been together for a couple of years,” Fury corrected.  “I promoted Coulson, and it set them into different career paths.”

“You know that Clint believes you did that on purpose,” Agent Noble said.  “He thinks you wanted them separated, so you broke up Strike Team Delta and moved them into different jobs.”

Fury didn’t deny it. 

That made Steve unbelievably angry.

It was just like Fury, to perform that sort of manipulation on people.  After all, he’d been the one who’d ordered that fake room put together that Steve has awakened in.  It would have worked, too, if not for the mistakes that had tipped him off to the deception.  Fury was just the sort of bastard who wouldn’t have hesitated to break up Barton and Coulson for his own ends.

Before he could put that anger into words, Agent Noble continued, “They were talking about giving it another try, from what Phil told me before he left for Pegasus.  He’d been looking forward to seeing Clint there, and had planned on asking him out to dinner.  But then…well, as far as I know, Phil never got the chance.”  She didn’t even bother to hide wiping the tear from her eye. 

“There are stringent frat regs for a reason,” Fury answered.  “Although, I suppose I wouldn’t have put up too much of a fight over it.  They’d never let it get in the way of their working relationship, after all.  And, in a way, Coulson was just as responsible for them breaking up; he’d wanted Barton in the Avengers Initiative, so that was where he went.  That pretty much affectively broke up Strike Team Delta even before I reassigned Coulson.”

“Well, recriminations don’t pay the rent,” Agent Noble capitulated, and with that the tension that had been heavy in the air was gone.  “I’m gonna go and wait for Estelle, Clint, and Nat.”

“Agent Romanov has arranged transport to the Triskelion, and then I know they’ll want to go on to the Delawares.”

“I’ll hitch a ride myself, then.”  With that, Agent Noble turned back to Thor and Steve. “Pleasure to meet you both.  I’m sure I’ll see you at the funeral.”

“Indeed,” Thor replied, “and I look forward to hearing more of your adventures with Friend Barton against the Daleks.”

“Deal,” she laughed, although Steve got the feeling it wasn’t as boisterous as it usually was. 

“We’ll see you then, Agent Noble,” Steve added, nodding.  He found himself quite liking the outspoken woman, even though they’d only just met.

She gave them each a smile, then left the security suite, leaving the three of them – and the unfortunate tech, who looked as if he wanted to sink into the floor – alone. 

“The Delawares?” Steve enquired, after the door had closed behind Agent Noble.

“Coulson’s family,” Fury answered.  “He has a sister in DC, married a man named Everett Delaware.  He also has a nephew who works in London for another ultra-top-secret organisation.  In fact, I was surprised he and his own family hadn’t come along with Agent Romanov.”

Steve recalled Fury asking Widow about someone being with them when they’d arrived.  “And Barton will stay with them?”

“Yeah.  The Delawares consider him family, despite him and Coulson breaking up.”  He sighed.  “If you’ll both excuse me, I’ve got things to do.  The funeral will be at the Triskelion, and then Coulson’s body will be taken back to Wisconsin, where he grew up, so there won’t be a graveside service locally.”

“Thank you, Director.”  Steve had a feeling there was more to Barton and Coulson’s relationship than what the man was saying, but he was willing to let it lie. 

“Indeed,” Thor echoed.  “The Man of Iron has offered me a place to stay at his residence here in the city before I learned of this memorial, then I believe we shall be travelling to this Washington for the funeral service.  Captain, I am quite certain you would be welcome, as well, and if you are amenable I shall be glad to take you there myself.”

Steve nodded; Stark had offered the self-same invitation, catching him before he’d managed to find a ride back to the Helicarrier.  “I’ll be glad to ride along.”

The God of Thunder – and Steve was still pretty sure that Thor wasn’t a god of anything, but he couldn’t deny that there _were_ myths about the Asgardians and that they’d all once been considered deities in certain corners of the world – gave him a brilliant smile.  “Then come, and we shall depart.”

Fury pinched the bridge of his nose.  “I can’t believe I’m thinking this, but staying with Stark is a good idea.  I’m sure he has his own transport to DC he’ll be glad to offer you both a ride on.”

Steve was certain of that.  When he’d first met Tony Stark, he hadn’t thought much of him.  However, fighting with him had changed the supersoldier’s mind on that score.  “We’ll see you there, then.”

Fury gave them both a curt nod, leaving the security suite.

He really wanted to see if Barton was alright before they went, and Thor readily agreed.  “Although, I am certain that Mistress Estelle has used her magic to clear the Hawkeyed One of any lingering influences.”

Steve didn’t know Miss Cole, so he couldn’t say the same, but Thor’s conviction was a bit comforting.  “Then, let’s go.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving for all my American readers...have a chapter of angst.

 

**_6 May 2012_ **

**_Georgetown_ **

**_Washington, DC_ **

****

The trip to Washington was a blur for Clint.

Mostly because he was just so tired.  He hadn’t really slept back on the Helicarrier, nor in the days he’d been held by Loki, and it was really kicking him in the ass.  He hadn’t had the strength to fight against Natasha as she’d bundled him out of that cell, and they’d run into Donna almost immediately. 

Donna had hugged him.  Hard.  She always did give the best hugs. 

Estelle had insisted that Donna accompany them, and she hadn’t argued against it.  Donna had been his friend for years, ever since they’d met on the Doctor’s TARDIS.  They had shared DNA with the Time Lord’s hand, of all things, and had helped regenerate an entirely new person.  What made it even more surreal was it wasn’t the oddest thing he’d ever been involved in.

Once they’d had some distance from events, Donna had joked about never considering that having a baby would have been that easy.  Clint, of course, had thought that whole notion of the metacrisis thing was giving birth was hilarious.

They’d simply stood there and held each other.  Donna had adored Phil in her own way, and had been good for Clint’s ex-lover, taking care of him in a way that had Phil often claiming that she was acting more like his mother than his mother had when she’d been alive.  Donna had called him names over it, and had kept right on doing it.

At some point, Fury had shown up, and Estelle had reported Clint free of any more of Loki’s influence.  Fury had then ‘borrowed’ Estelle to do the same to the other agents, and Natasha had made noises about getting to a Quinjet before the director changed his mind and had the plane reassigned. 

Just as they were leaving, though, Thor and Rogers had shown up.  Natasha had informed them that everything was fine and that Clint had been cleansed, while the archer had simply stood there, his arm around Donna, letting his friend support him by her very snarky presence. 

Eventually, they did get to their Quinjet, only to await Estelle.  Moses had accompanied them, to Clint’s surprise, since the cat was hardly ever away from his mistress’ side, but he seemed content to curl up in Clint’s lap once he’d plopped himself down into one of the jumpseats, not trusting himself to fly right then, not as exhausted as he was.  He’d leave that up to Natasha.

Donna sat down beside him, and wrapped her arm around him.  He leaned unashamedly against her, resting his head on her shoulder, and let himself be comforted.

The next thing he remembered, the Quinjet was landing at the Triskelion.

Clint did his best to ignore the stares as Natasha bullied the motor pool into issuing them an SUV, Donna standing with an arm around his waist, her own glare making agents give them a wide berth, and Estelle holding his hand in support.  Moses, not to be left out, had climbed the archer like a tree and was curled around his neck, draped across his shoulders like some sort of furry scarf.  While Clint couldn’t see the cat’s expression, he had a feeling Moses was scowling just as much as the three very strong women who were his escorts.

Not that Clint could blame the agents for it.  After all, he _had_ led the attack on the Helicarrier, and people had died.  Even though Loki had been in control, it had been Clint’s mind and knowledge and body doing the work. 

He wondered just how he could stay with SHIELD now.  He would always be watching over his shoulder, waiting for the next shoe to drop and for one of the agents he’d used to work with could come after him in some way.  SHIELD agents are the cream of the crop, and there were so many ways for anyone to get even…Clint knew he couldn’t handle living like that. 

Phil wouldn’t want him to give up, but at the same time…Phil was gone.  The ache in his chest felt like it would never heal, and it wasn’t just from where Loki’s staff had touched him and ripped out his soul.  They’d talked, him and Phil, about trying to work things out, and Clint had thought they had time to figure out where they were going.  Well, that had been a lie, hadn’t it?

Together, the three women hustled him into the SUV that Natasha had managed to secure, Clint in the back seat sandwiched between Donna and Estelle.  Nat gave them a glance in the rear-view mirror before pulling out of the motor pool area, sending them out of the Triskelion and into late afternoon Washington DC traffic.

Clint didn’t pay any attention to the scenery.  He was lost in his own thoughts, and revelling in the comfort that was being offered by the woman who was like the grandmother he’d never had, and the lady who was his best female friend outside of Natasha…which really said something about his ability to attract redheads, didn’t it? 

Honestly, though, he was nervous about this.  He’d been assured that the Delawares were fine with him coming, and were in fact looking forward to it, but there was this tiny bit of Clint that had to wonder just how long it would be before he lost this family he’d gained when he’d started dating Phil.  Sure, they’d still wanted him around back when they’d broken up, but this was different.  Phil was…gone, there was no reason for them to keep him that close anymore.

He thought the doubts had more to do with his own abandonment issues than the Delawares being shitty about it, but he just couldn’t help it. 

Clint absently stroked Moses, who had climbed down into his lap the moment he’d slid into his seat.  The cat was purring like a jet engine, the soothing noise filling the quiet of the SUV’s passenger compartment. 

“He’s missed you,” Estelle murmured, leaning into Clint’s shoulder.  It wasn’t his imagination that told him that she seemed a little frailer than the last time he’d seen her, and the archer was dreading the day when the elderly Welshwoman was gone.  He had a feeling it would hurt as much as Phil’s death had.

“I’m really more of a dog person,” he replied.

Moses glanced up at him, yellow eyes blinking, and he hissed at that.  Then, with a huff, he curled back up and began purring once more.

“Well,” he chuckled weakly, “that’s me told.”  It constantly amazed him just how intelligent Moses was, and how his reactions were so easily understood.  It had to have been part of the magic that made him Estelle’s familiar and lifelong companion. 

Donna laughed at that.  “Apparently, Moses’ opinion of dogs is a bad one.”

The meow that Moses gave sounded like complete agreement.  Clint couldn’t help but give the cat a scratch behind the ears, knowing just where Moses liked it. 

It seemed to take no time at all to arrive in the historic district of Georgetown, where Margaret and Everett Delaware had their townhouse.  They’d lived there for years, ever since Everett had taken over the FBI as its Director, and they’d stayed after he’d retired, and after Maggie had finally quit the CIA.  It was the place where their son, Patrick, had spent a good part of his life; they’d even converted part of the house into a separate unit for their only son’s use when he’d been on leave from the Army.  Clint had been a couple of times, for holidays spent with the family when he’d been dating Phil, and it was a pleasant, four storey building that, according to Everett, had been built in 1900.  He and Maggie had done a lot of modernising on it when they’d moved in, while keeping its outside old-world charm, and they’d both been inordinately proud of the home they’d built.  It even had a turret, for crying out loud. 

Turrets were awesome, in Clint’s opinion.

Natasha pulled around to the rear, where she parked behind a dark blue sedan that Clint recognised as Everett’s car.  Beside it was an older red pickup, and he couldn’t help the small smile on his face as he realised that Canton and Pat, Everett’s fathers, were already there.  That wasn’t a surprise; after all, they also lived in Washington, so they hadn’t had much of a commute to get there.

They got out of the SUV, Moses walking on his own this time, leaving Clint with hands free to help Natasha get the bags from the rear.  He knew that, chances were, Donna wouldn’t be staying; she had her own place, a nice little apartment near the University.  Natasha wouldn’t be, either, so that left him and Estelle, and it was a good thing the place had six full bedrooms, what with Patrick and his family coming in from London for the funeral.

Before they could even climb the brick steps up to the rear door, it was flung open, revealing Everett Delaware, looking drawn and tired but smiling as they approached.

Canton Everett Delaware IV – or Everett, as he was called in order to differentiate him from his father – greeted them quietly, yet it was obvious that he was glad they were there.  Clint found himself wrapped up in yet another hug, and he wasn’t about to complain about it.  He really needed all the hugs he could get right now.

“It’s so good to see you,” Everett murmured as he let go, so he could embrace Estelle, and then Donna.  He hesitated a moment with Natasha, knowing that she wasn’t all that fond of that sort of thing, but then took the opportunity and hugged her as well.  For once, Natasha hugged back, and Clint knew that Phil’s death was affecting her almost as badly as it had him.  For a long time, the three of them had been Strike Team Delta, and they’d been their own family unit within SHIELD, trusting each other with their very lives.  Just because the team had been disbanded didn’t mean that particular bond had disappeared.

“Come in, all of you,” the older man invited them inside, holding the door open so Clint and Natasha would carry the bags into the mudroom.  “Clint, you have the guest room on the third floor, to the left of the elevator; Estelle, you have the room next to him.”

“Thank you, Everett,” the elderly witch said gratefully.  “I admit, I am a bit tired.  I think I could use a nap.”

Clint would have argued for Estelle getting a room on a lower floor, if it weren’t for the elevator.  It had been part of the house when the Delawares had purchased it, but Everett had brought it up to code.  Estelle wasn’t the only one to use it; Canton’s knees were getting bad, and not having to climb all those stairs was a good thing for him. 

“Why don’t I help get you settled,” Donna offered, “and then I’ll come back down for a bit before heading home.”  Her hand reached out for Clint’s bag.  “I’ll take that up for you.”

“Thanks,” Clint said, handing it over. 

“Bloody hell,” Donna gasped theatrically, “just what do you have in here, anyway?  An entire armoury?”

Clint couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her.  “Ask Nat… she packed for me.”

“It’s only half an armoury,” Natasha returned dryly.  “I also have Clint’s suit still in the SUV.”

“I’ll fetch it,” Everett offered, holding out his hand for the keys.  “Why don’t you go on through to the living room?  My fathers are there already.”

“Clint should be calling Francine,” Estelle added.

“She’s on her way,” Everett said.  “There was no keeping her away, really.”

That wasn’t as much of a surprise as it should have been, and Clint didn’t think he had the words to explain just how glad he was to know Francine was willing to travel to the States for him.  After everything she’d been through with the Master, Francine had a tendency to stay close to home.  “When is everyone else getting in?”

“I’ll need to leave in a couple of hours.  Dads helped me clean out a place in the attic for Ianto’s nest, so at least he’ll be comfortable.”

The archer’s eyebrows went up.  “Ianto’s coming?  On a commercial flight?” He was well aware of the dragon’s hatred of flying in planes.

“They have a fancy new Torchwood jet,” Everett answered.  “Diane’s flying them in.  Everyone thought that it would be easier on Alice if she didn’t have to deal with an overseas flight on a regular airline, so Jack approved the trip on the Torchwood dime.  Ianto is coming along to represent the Institute at the funeral, so that took care of any sort of fuss the Privy Purse might make over the expense.  It doesn’t hurt that Ianto and Phil were also friends and wanted to come.”

That made sense.  Alice, being nearly eight months pregnant, would have been distinctly uncomfortable if she’d had to fly commercial.  This would also make Ianto a little more at ease, as well. 

“Where’s Maggie?” Donna enquired.

Everett’s face became sadder, if that was possible.  “She’s not handling this well at all.  We had to sedate her, so she’s sleeping right now.”

“God,” Clint whispered brokenly.  “I’m so sorry…”  Of course, Maggie wasn’t taking her younger brother’s death all that well.  She and Phil had always been close, and now…

“Clint,” Everett put his hand on the archer’s shoulder, “nothing in this is your fault.  Director Fury briefed us as much as he could, so we know what basically happened and that you weren’t in control.  It was Loki who killed Phil, not you.  I won’t have you taking responsibility for it.  And, you know Phil would kick your ass if he knew that you were wallowing in guilt when you couldn’t have done a thing to prevent it.”

He was right.  Clint could practically hear Phil in his head, telling him to stop with the pity party and deal with it.  Well, maybe not in those exact words, but his ex-lover would certainly be giving him a stern talking-to about letting his guilty feelings eat him alive. 

“Go on in,” Everett urged.  “I’ll go and fetch the rest of the bags.”

They all separated; Clint going through into the living room, while Natasha, Estelle, and Donna all made their way to the elevator. 

Clint heard the back door close as he walked down the hall, past the staircase, and through an open curved archway that led into the large living room.  It had pale green walls, and the furniture was fancy even though it was comfortable.  There was a massive fireplace against the outer wall, and tall, narrow windows that looked out onto the street, the shadows of leaves waving across the hardwood floor. 

Canton and Pat both stood as he entered. 

Canton Everett Delaware III was one of those men who resembled a kindly grandfather yet could still take down an armed man before they even knew he was doing it.  He’d put on a little bulk, and the combination of bald head and bushy beard made him look completely harmless; he might have looked perfectly at home in a Santa suit.  Clint knew Canton was anything _but_ harmless, having worked as a Special Investigator for the President of the United States…the first openly gay man to have done so.  He’d long since retired, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t kick ass when he wanted to.

It also didn’t hurt that Canton had once travelled with the Doctor…although a different Doctor than the one Clint had met.  He still wasn’t all sure about this regeneration shit, even though he’d almost been a witness to it, but he’d seen a lot of weird crap and certainly couldn’t dismiss it.

Pat Andrews – Patrick had actually been named for him – was a tall, thin black man whose hair had gone completely white but his eyes were just as shrewd as ever.  He’d been a journalist before he’d done the retirement thing, and he still had a flair for it and would sometimes do editorials to various papers on subjects that struck his fancy.  Clint had read a quite a few of Pat’s articles, and he’d been very impressed.

“Son,” Pat moved a little quicker than Canton in getting to Clint, wrapping him up in a hug that had the archer relaxing just that little bit more.  “You’re home now.”

 _Home._ That single word had Clint breathing out a sob as he clutched at the older man, the scent of his aftershave filling his nostrils as he barely resisted sagging in Pat’s arms.  Clint didn’t want to burden him with his weight, not at his age, but he couldn’t help just how much he needed comfort at that moment.

Pat maneuvered him to the couch, putting Clint between himself and Canton.  Clint wanted to be surprised that Canton – not usually a touchy-feely sort of person – helped Pat sandwich the archer between them, but he just couldn’t bring himself to.  They were all suffering at their loss, and this was something each and every one of them needed.

Eventually, though, Canton and his husband pulled away.  Canton offered him a handkerchief, which Clint gladly excepted.  “Sorry,” he mumbled as he wiped his eyes.

“No,” Canton replied, “don’t say that, boy.  We’re all family, and that’s what we’re here for:  to support each other.”  He looked toward Pat.  “How about some lunch?”

“That sounds like an excellent idea.”  Pat stood.  “Clint, you look like you could use a decent meal or three.”

He wasn’t far wrong.  Loki didn’t care if any of his ‘slaves’ ate, or drank, or slept, and the last thing Clint had had was a bowl of macaroni and cheese on the Helicarrier.  His blood sugar was really close to crashing, which also explained his overly emotional state. 

Well, and his depression.  But the blood sugar didn’t help matters any.

He nodded in agreement, and Pat rested a hand on his shoulder as he headed toward the kitchen, leaving Clint and Canton alone. 

“Fury told us enough,” the older man said, “so I know you’re blaming yourself for Phil’s death…”

“Well, it kinda was my fault.” 

“No, it wasn’t.  You were under mind control, and none of your actions were your own.  I know it’s hard for you to accept, but it’s true, Clint.  Look, I’m not a platitude kinda guy, but know this…none of us blame you.”  He took Clint by the shoulders, grip not tight enough to bruise, but just enough to hold his attention.  “Clint… _Phil_ wouldn’t blame you.  He _loved_ you, even though you weren’t together anymore.  We know he wanted to get back together with you, after Audrey left for Portland…but, what you don’t know is that Audrey _knew_ how he felt about you.  It was _her_ who suggested to Phil that he give your relationship another chance, that it was obvious that while he loved her, he was _in love_ with you.”

Clint’s mouth fell open.  He and Phil had talked, before that fateful assignment at Pegasus, and Phil had been the one to suggest they give it another go.  The archer had had no clue whatsoever that it had been Audrey to suggest it. 

And yet, somehow, knowing Audrey, that didn’t really surprise him all that much once he considered the notion.

“Do you know if someone’s told Audrey yet?”  Clint might have been a little jealous of her, but Phil’s cellist was a genuinely good person, and he’d long decided that if she made him happy, then Clint was going to give her his blessing…even if it was a silent one.  If anyone had deserved to be happy, it was Phil, and if it wasn’t Clint doing it then Audrey Nathan would suffice.

There was nothing, though, that would ever convince him that Fury hadn’t set him and Phil up to fail.  They’d gone from working together almost mutually, to being separated for weeks – and one memorable time three months – at a time.  That sort of distance was bound to take its toll, and if Clint was being completely honest Phil hadn’t been the only one to have found someone else after they’d officially called it quits.  Clint himself had spent two months with Bobbi Morse before marrying her, even though that marriage hadn’t lasted as long as their rather whirlwind courtship.  Most of that was due to the fact that their being together had been rebound on both sides: him, with Phil; and Bobbi from her ex-husband, Lance Hunter.  They’d been doomed to fail from the moment they’d met.

“Fury hadn’t told her by the time I reached her.”  Clint turned to look at Everett, who was standing just inside the room, leaning on the wall and hands in his pockets.  “I’ve also arranged for her plane ticket.  She should be here tomorrow.”

Clint was glad of that, Audrey needed the chance to mourn as well, but…  “There’s no way Fury will let her within a mile of the Triskelion.”

Everett smirked knowingly.  “Ianto’s already arranged for a temporary security pass, under Torchwood.  She can’t know everything, of course…but she was at Patrick and Alice’s wedding, and Audrey isn’t stupid.  She might not have had confirmation of certain things, but she’s sure to have guessed at quite a lot of it.  It certainly was obvious that Jack and Alice, while they might resemble each other, don’t look the right ages to be father and daughter, let alone Steven being Jack’s grandson.”

That made sense.  While the wedding had been tame as compared to what Jack and Ianto had claimed a Torchwood wedding _could_ be, there had been a lot of people there that Audrey couldn’t have helped but question.  Oscar, alone, would have raised all sorts of questions, being an intelligent alien velociraptor.

Yet, she’d seemed to handle things with a grace that had put her instantly in several important people’s good graces. 

Clint had wondered at the time if her taking the job in Portland had been Audrey’s way of backing out of what had been a really strange situation.  Of course, Audrey had once been stalked by a super-powered nutjob, so she was certainly made of sterner stuff than most civilians. 

“I tried to get the venue for the funeral changed,” Everett went on, “but Fury was adamant about it being at the Triskelion.  Security reasons, he said.  I tend to believe him; Phil knew a lot of powerful people in his line of work, and from what I understand Jed Bartlett will be attending as well, and the last thing we’d need is someone wanting to take a pot-shot at a former President.”

“Yeah.  Phil likes… _liked_ …President Bartlett.” Clint remembered that mission; it had been just before Strike Team Delta; before Natasha had nearly caused him to get his ass kicked out of SHIELD for refusing to kill her.  Phil had been given the assignment at the White House just after Melinda May had retired out of the field, when whatever the hell had happened in Bahrain.

It hadn’t escaped Clint’s attention that May had such an aversion to the nickname, Cavalry, so he was willing to bet there had been some covering up done about the situation.  He was certain Phil knew every single detail, but he’d never asked, wanting to respect May’s silence more than needing to know.

There were missions he’d had himself just like that, so he could completely understand what May had been going through.  Clint hadn’t been about to rake it all up again just because he was curious.

Pat bustled past Everett, a plate and glass in his hands.  He handed the plate to Clint; there was a sandwich on it, one of Pat’s signature chicken salad creations, topped with lettuce and tomato and on sourdough bread.  Clint’s mouth watered; he hadn’t really realised how hungry he was until he was faced with the monstrosity that Pat had created for him. 

He set the plate on his lap and tucked in, stifling the moan he wanted to make at the burst of Cajun spices on his tongue, the chicken perfectly flavoured with Pat’s secret mixture of cayenne, garlic, and other things that Clint couldn’t identify; the lettuce and tomato a palate cleanser between bites.

He’d inhaled half of the sandwich before Natasha and Donna reappeared.  “Estelle’s out like a light,” Donna reported.  “Oi, is any of that left?  You know you can’t have made just enough for Clint.  That wouldn’t be fair.”

Pat laughed.  “I would always make enough for everyone, dear heart.  It’s in the fridge.”

“You want something, Nat?”

“If you don’t mind,” Natasha answered.  Donna and Clint were just about the only people on the planet who could get away with calling her anything except her full name: Clint because he’d saved her life and soul and was like the brother she’d never had; and Donna because no one could say ‘no’ to her and she really did whatever the hell she wanted.

Phil hadn’t been able to, as well.  Which was what made her the perfect PA for him, because there weren’t a lot of people capable of corralling Phillip J. Coulson, not even most of his family.

“Help yourself,” Everett invited. 

“Does anyone else want anything?”  Donna remembered her manners.

After getting negatives from Everett, Pat, and Canton, the fiery Londoner made herself at home and headed out to the kitchen. 

Clint shook his head fondly.  He absolutely adored Donna, and had trusted her implicitly with taking care of Phil when the archer couldn’t do it.  She’d made certain that Phil hadn’t skipped meals and had been kept in coffee and donuts.  She’d kept him organised – not that Phil hadn’t been organised, but there really were only twenty-four hours in the day and Phil had always been a bit of a workaholic.  Donna had also kept people from bothering him when he was busy or if he’d just wanted a little downtime.  Really, none of the baby agents wanted to mess with her. 

The sandwich was gone before Clint could even register the fact, and it had tasted heavenly.  Pat was watching him closely, and gave a bright smile when the archer took his last bite, handing over the glass when Clint had a free hand to take it.  The lemonade – also a Pat Andrews creation – was perfectly tart yet sweet at the same time. 

He thanked his benefactor profusely, but Pat simply waved it off.  “I have pecan pie if you’re interested.”

“Not right now,” Clint answered.  “Maybe later?  I think I could use a nap myself.”

“You look it,” Everett commented.  He’d taken one of the overstuffed chairs near the fireplace.  “I put your things in the guest room.”  His face fell a little.  “I was going to put them in Phil’s room, but…”

“Yeah.”  He was grateful for Everett’s kindness.  Clint wouldn’t have been able to sleep surrounded by the things that Phil had kept there, on those occasions he’d stayed in his sister’s place, although they should have been comforting.  It would only reinforce just what Clint was now missing.

“Will you need anything to help you rest?” Pat asked solicitously.

Clint shook his head, panicking a little at the thought of being drugged up.  “No, please!  I want to be able to wake up when the nightmares start…”

The older man looked sad at the archer’s vehement denial.  “I’m sorry.  I should have thought.”

“No, it’s fine.”  He’d only wanted to make sure Clint would be able to sleep.  It had been offered out of sincere concern.

“Then let’s get you taken care of.”  Everett stood.  “There are also clean towels in the bathroom if you wanted to shower first.”

That sounded like an excellent idea.  Clint hadn’t really been clean since the battle, truth be told; Medical had wiped him down when they’d been poking and prodding and taking care of his wounds, but they hadn’t been exactly gentle.  Not that he blamed them.  He’d been compromised and had struck out against SHIELD and the agents who’d stood in the way of his ultimate goal.  People had died; Clint hadn’t deserved to be coddled. 

“We’ll help you, son,” Canton offered.  “You look run off your feet.”

Clint couldn’t help the quiet smile that lifted his lips.  “I don’t think I’ve ever said it, but I…really like it when you and Pat call me that.”

His smile was overwhelmed by the pair he received from both older men.  “You’ve always been that, Clint,” Pat said.  “It didn’t matter that you and Phil weren’t together anymore.  You’re a part of this family, and you always will be.”

Clint took a deep breath, his eyes darting to Natasha, who was watching from the corner she’d occupied since coming into the living room.  She nodded once, agreeing with Pat and Canton.

He knew he didn’t deserve this, but this was his family, and they’d chosen him.  He was unbelievably grateful for them all.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

**_8 May 2012_ **

**_The Triskelion_ **

**_Washington, DC_ **

****

Steve hadn’t yet been to the Triskelion, and he had to admit he thought the building was just a bit too ugly for his taste.

He’d arrived with Stark, Thor, and Pepper Potts, who was an amazing woman who put up with Stark’s messes with an aplomb that had Steve respecting her way more than he would have suspected.  Banner had declined in appearing, not sure about being around all those SHIELD agents.  Besides, he hadn’t known Agent Coulson all that well, plus he didn’t feel comfortable at funerals.

But then, who did?  But, at least none of the rest of them would turn into a large, green monster with extraordinary rage issues at the drop of a hat.

For the last couple of days, Steve had spent in Stark’s Tower, an eyesore on the Manhattan skyline, and he wasn’t afraid to say it, especially to Stark.  However, it had strangely felt like home, in a way he just couldn’t put into words. 

Stark, himself, had been completely different from what Steve had witnessed on the Helicarrier, but then he suspected it had a lot to do with Ms Potts being present…especially after the Agent Coulson stories started.  The supersoldier had learned a lot about the man he’d only just met over the two days he’d spent in the company of the people who’d lost the agent, hearing tales of how each of them had met Coulson, along with some stories that Stark had managed to dig up from somewhere…including footage from an abortive convenience store robbery where Agent Coulson had taken out two men with a bag of flour.  Thor had been cheering, and had vowed to try to find Coulson in Valhalla once he returned to Asgard and to share in a barrel of mead with him over his ‘honourable victory over the miscreants who would have taken what did not belong to them’.

Sometimes, Steve wondered if Thor really spoke like that, or he just _believed_ he should.

It had actually been enjoyable, hearing about Phil Coulson from the people who’d known him.  Stark, though, had gotten maudlin at times, remembering things that the agent had done for him, and Steve had been surprised and angry…at himself, for misjudging Stark so thoroughly based on first appearance.  Tony Stark was a good man, he only put up a front for people he didn’t know.  Steve could completely understand that sort of thing, because it wasn’t like he’d done that sort of thing himself.  After all, Captain America _wasn’t_ Steve Rogers.

Laughter had been shared, and tears had been shed, and in the end Steve had gained such respect for Agent Coulson that he actually mourned losing the chance of getting to know him better.

He tugged at the collar of the suit that Ms Potts had managed to find for him on such short notice.  He wanted to attend the service as Steve Rogers, and not Captain America, and the simple black suit and tie combined with a white shirt was perfect for that.  Stark’s own suit was also basic black, as well as his shirt, although his tie was red and gold; Ms Potts had sighed when she’d seen it, but she hadn’t fought him on it.  Apparently, she’d long ago learned to pick her battles with Tony Stark, and this wasn’t one she thought she could win.

Stark had proclaimed rather loudly that Coulson would have expected him to wear something that gaudy, and he wasn’t about to disappoint the guy…even if he couldn’t actually _see_ it for himself.

Thor was in full armour, his hammer hanging from his belt.  He looked every inch the alien warrior prince, standing out amid the agents and other staff that bustled about the large foyer of the Triskelion.  A sculpture of SHIELD’s eponymous eagle was smack-dab in the centre of the glassed-in entry, and along one wall Steve could make out some sort of memorial; there were names engraved on it, and he guessed they must have been agents lost in the line of duty.

He wondered if Agent Coulson’s name had been added yet.

They were greeted by Agent Hill, her own black suit fitting in with the occasion.  “Thank you for coming,” she greeted them.  Her face was calm, but there was something in her eyes that communicated her grief.  “The service is this way.”  She waved them toward what resembled stairs, but they were moving. 

Another fantastic thing.  Moving stairs.

“Of course we were gonna come,” Stark snorted.  “There was no way I was going to miss this.”

Hill obviously bristled a little at Stark’s tone.  “Mister Stark, if you can’t be respectful – “

Stark grabbed her by the arm, and Steve waited for the fireworks to start.  But Hill must have correctly interpreted the serious expression on the man’s face, because she seemed to hold herself in check.  “Agent was my _friend_ ,” Stark snarled.  “It might not have seemed like it, but that’s just the way I am, and he _knew_ it.  Coulson was a good man, and he had the courtesy to ask me for things instead of assuming I was just going to roll over and do whatever the fuck Fury wanted me to.  He respected my intelligence and my need to know things.  He was the _only one_ who really wanted me on the Avengers.  And, if that wasn’t enough, he was good to Pepper, which automatically made him a much better man than I will ever be.  So don’t give me that shit, okay?”

Ms Potts rested her hand on Stark’s arm, as if trying to calm him down.  He clasped her fingers, in what looked like an attempt to keep that hand where it was.  There was a lot of love in that touch, and Steve barely hid his smile at that.

Hill sighed.  “I’m sorry.  It’s just…Coulson and I worked together for years.  He was Third here at SHIELD.  I just didn’t want you to pull any of the disrespect crap you usually do.”

Steve hadn’t known that Agent Coulson was that high up in SHIELD.  That surprised him, although it shouldn’t have, not after the stories he’d heard over the last couple of days.  It appeared that Phil Coulson had been a very singular individual.

“Hey,” Stark said, “I get it.  I do.  I wouldn’t trust me, either.  But Agent deserves every bit of respect I can give him.”

“Thanks for that.”

“The Son of Coul was more than meets the eye,” Thor observed.  “Midgard – indeed, the Nine Realms – will be lesser for his leaving it.”

Hill nodded, looking touched by Thor’s comment.  She then turned and led them up the moving stairs, and up into an area that looked down into the atrium.  The room where the service was going to be held was just off this balcony, through an open pair of doors.  Agents were milling around outside, and they parted as Hill and the Avengers moved past.

The room beyond was a large one, with windows that looked out over the Potomac.  Someone had set up rows of chairs facing the windows, and the coffin had been laid on top of a table covered with a black cloth, its lid open so that anyone who wished could walk by and pay their respects.  Various sorts of flower arrangements were set up around the black wood of the casket, and to Steve’s surprise there was a cello on a stand close by.  There was a fairly long queue of very quiet people waiting to move past the open coffin, every single one of them solemn.

A group who must have all been members of Coulson’s family were just beyond the casket, standing in a staggered line or seated in chairs, greeting agents and others as they moved beyond the coffin.

Agent Barton was among them.

He stood next to a man who bore an astonishing resemblance to Agent Coulson, except his eyes were dark instead of the blue that Steve remembered.  He was just a little taller than Barton, and was dressed completely in black: suit, shirt, and tie.  There was a single blossom on his lapel: it was white and pale pink, and looked a little out of place, but Steve was certain there was a reason for that particular flower.

Barton was also wearing a black suit, only his shirt was a crisp white and the tie was a deep purple.  The same flower was on his lapel, which confirmed to Steve that it had meant something, either to Coulson himself or to the family.

Sitting in a chair next to the man who looked so much like Coulson was a woman who was obviously pregnant.  She had strong features framed with short brown hair, blue eyes watching the line of agents as they filed past the coffin.  She didn’t look very comfortable, and as Steve watched a young man – a teenager, really – stepped up to her and spoke.  The boy was obviously her son, solemn beyond his years, his own blue eyes red from crying.  They each also wore that flower, and Steve resolved to ask about it when he got the chance. 

There were others as well.  A tall, gangly elderly black man with pure white hair stood arm-in-arm with a shorter, equally old, white man with a full beard and a bald head, both of them so obviously comfortable with each other that Steve wanted to think they were together.  Agent Noble was talking to them, and as the supersoldier watched the black man touched the woman on the shoulder of her black dress, and she nodded sharply before walking away.

The final two were a man and a woman.  The woman was also very obviously related to Agent Coulson; she had the same colour hair and eyes and appeared to be close in age to the fallen agent, and Steve wondered if she was his sister.  The man with her was balding, and...yes, he looked enough like the bearded man to perhaps be his son.

As they joined the line, two more people joined the family.  One was a woman, stern-featured and dark-skinned, and she walked right up to Barton and hugged him tightly.  The agent returned it, clutching her as if his life depended on it.  Steve would have bet good money that this was the Francine that he’d heard mentioned, the one who’d practically adopted Barton when she’d discovered he didn’t have any family left.

The man with her was perhaps in his twenties, with dark hair and blue eyes.  His black, three-piece suit was impeccable, and probably cost about as much as the one Stark was wearing, with the exact same lapel bloom as everyone else in the family.  He walked right up to the pregnant woman, and she nodded at something he said, her face showing discomfort and exhaustion in equal measure. 

“Ianto made it,” Stark murmured, and when Steve glanced in his direction he could see that he’d addressed Ms Potts. 

“He wouldn’t have missed it,” she returned.  “He and Phil were good friends.  I wonder if he brought Jack along…”

“Probably not, not with Ianto and Patrick both here.”

She nodded in acknowledgement.

Thor, though, looked gobsmacked, his eyes practically boring into the young man.  “That being is not human,” he announced.

Stark stepped in front of Thor, flapping his hands at the Thunderer in dismay.  “I’m not gonna ask you how you knew that and just chalk it up to your alien-ness, but could you possibly be a little quieter about it?  It’s not public knowledge, and Ianto would probably eat you for breakfast if anyone heard you.”

The Asgardian looked chagrined.  “Of course.  I understand.  I thought his kind were long dead, however, and it was said in surprise and gladness to know that we have been wrong all these centuries.”

“He’s the Last,” Stark said, and Steve could hear the capital L in the sentence, as well as a slight tone of sadness.  “It’s a damned shame.”

The supersoldier stared at the young man Stark had called Ianto, trying to figure out just what Thor had seen that had convinced him that this person wasn’t human.  There wasn’t anything that he could see, and he had to assume like Stark had that it was Thor being an alien and noticing differences that Steve simply couldn’t.  Did that mean the young man was an alien?  He didn’t know, but he felt a little tense at the idea.  After all, they’d just fought off an invasion of aliens, and didn’t want to have to deal with another.

Although, Stark and Ms Potts knew, so it was most likely alright.  He’d keep an eye out, anyway.

“I’m not so interested in how Thor knew,” Hill said forbiddingly, “but how _you_ did, Stark?”

The genius shrugged as if her looking as if she wanted to kill him didn’t bother him in the slightest.  “Patrick and Alice’s wedding.  He told me…which I’m sure he didn’t say a thing to _you_ , Hill, so I figure it was Fury sticking his nose in other peoples’ business.  Says something about who Ianto trusts, doesn’t it?”

Hill’s jaw clenched, and with his better than average hearing Steve could swear he could make out the sound of her teeth grinding.  However, she said nothing, not rising to Stark’s provocation. 

Just then, another woman joined the family group, bringing Agent Romanov with her.  She had brown hair and brown eyes, and she seemed just a little tentative, as if not quite sure of her welcome.  The elderly black man motioned her over, and she was very obviously grateful for the invitation; she joined them, beginning to chat with them, relaxing the longer she stood there.  The man handed her her own blossom, and she tucked it into the clip that was keeping her hair held back into a simple style. Natasha already had one of the flowers, in a corsage pinned to the front of her demure black dress.

“Thank goodness Audrey is here,” Ms Potts said.  “I wasn’t sure if she’d be able to make it.”

“Fury wasn’t happy about it,” Hill admitted.  “She doesn’t have nearly the security clearance to be here.  He was going to wait until after the funeral to make the call to her, but Director Delaware beat him to it.”

“Let me guess,” Stark said sarcastically, “Ianto arranged it all?”

“He did.”

“Good for him,” Ms Potts nodded in approval.  “She deserves to be here for Phil.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve asked, confused, “but Audrey?”  There were too many names coming at him, and he felt he needed a playbook in order to keep track.

“She and Phil dated for a short while,” Ms Potts explained.  “She moved to Portland to join the symphony there.  And now I see the cello…perhaps that means she’s going to play.”

“Agent would’ve liked that,” Stark agreed.

Just then, from somewhere Agent Noble appeared. “Thank you all for coming,” she said, the brash manner that Steve had seen in her gone, replaced by grief.  Her eyes were a little glassy, which made him think she was about two minutes away from crying. 

“Donna.”  Ms Potts hugged her.  Hill, looking slightly uncomfortable, chose to leave the group at that moment.  For some reason, Steve was glad of it.  Perhaps it was because she was SHIELD, and he still didn’t quite trust the organisation after what they’d done when he first woke up.

Agent Noble accepted the embrace gracefully.  When she pulled away, she turned to Stark.  “Mister Stark.”

“Agent Noble,” Tony greeted her in the exact same teasing tone, as if this was something they’d done before and were falling back into old patterns.

“Not an agent anymore, Sunshine.  Turned in my resignation this morning.  It…just doesn’t seem right to be here anymore, you know?”  The lightness in her voice was gone, replaced by tiredness.  “I came in because Clint recruited me, and asked me to look after Phil when he wasn’t around.  Even though I wasn’t on the Helicarrier I can’t help but feel like I failed both of them.”

“You didn’t,” Stark assured her, “and you could’ve ended up like Agent if you _had_ been.”

She didn’t look at all reassured, but she nodded anyway.

“You know you have a place with Stark Industries,” Ms Potts offered.

“Or with the Avengers,” Stark piped up.  “We could always use someone willing to yell at us when we do something stupid, English.”

Agent Noble – Donna – looked touched by the offer, the sarcastic smile not hiding it.  “I’d have laryngitis in a day, knowing you the way I do.”

“Who, me?” Stark was mock-scandalised, clapping a hand to his chest just above where the arc reactor was, under his expensive shirt.

“You flew a bloody nuke into a wormhole.  I’d say pretty stupid, yeah.”

Ms Potts rolled her eyes.  “You’re not kidding, there.”

“This is what I get for saving the city!”

Donna shook her head fondly.  “And we both know that Phil would have had some pretty salty words with you about it.”

“Yeah,” Stark sighed, the snarkiness immediately gone from his expression.  “He would’ve.”

Donna reached out and took Stark’s hand.  “I’ll think about it, okay?  Right now, though, I’m gonna take some time and go home.  Granddad’s not getting any younger, you know?  And it’s been a couple of years since I was back for any length of time.  Mum says he’s been pining.”

“Give Wilfred our regards,” Ms Potts requested.

“I will.  He’ll appreciate it.”  She leaned a little closer to Ms Potts.  “Honestly, I think he’s got a bit of a crush on you.  Just don’t tell him I said anything.”

“I’ll fight him for you,” Stark offered, looping an arm around Ms Potts’ waist. 

That had Ms Potts shaking her head, a small smile on her face.  “Wilfred would kick your ass, Tony.”

Steve wasn’t comfortable with women cursing, but he’d learned very quickly that they did that very thing in the future…well, the present, actually.  It was one of the many things that was taking some getting used to. 

“Look,” Donna said, “I was sent over to see if you all wanted to cut the line and join the family.”

“How is everyone holding up?” Ms Potts enquired.

“Maggie’s not handling it very well at all, but then she and Phil were close.  She’s now the last Coulson, and I think it’s really hitting her hard.”

Steve glanced over at the woman who he’d guessed was Agent Coulson’s sister.  He could tell she was absolutely devastated, her face pale and her eyes red and exhausted.  The man with her had his arm around her, as if he was trying to prop her up.  His heart went out to her; Steve knew exactly how she was feeling.  He’d lost Bucky, and while they hadn’t actually been related he’d been like a brother to Steve. 

Well, he’d actually been _more_ , but Bucky hadn’t known that.  It had just been a lot safer for everyone involved to say they were brothers.

“Clint’s also not doing great,” Donna continued, “but it’s because he blames himself even though it’s not his fault, plus he’s mourning the second chance he thought he was going to get with Phil.  Thank god Francine decided to tag along, she’s been in full-on mother hen mode ever since she arrived.”

“Francine will set him straight,” Ms Potts nodded.

“Steven adored his Uncle Phil, so it’s been rough on him,” Donna went on, “and Patrick…he’s not only missing his uncle, but he’s also worried about Alice.  Martha gave her the okay to fly, but she’s been twitchy and uncomfortable since she arrived.  Ianto’s been a great help, but then he’s her Tad, and that makes a big difference.  He won’t let her get away with _anything_.”

Tad?  Steve had to wonder what that meant.  Maybe Donna’s accent had corrupted the word, Dad?  But the person called Ianto didn’t look old enough to be the pregnant woman’s father.  They didn’t even resemble each other at all.  Although, he supposed, if this Ianto was an alien, perhaps he aged differently from humans...

“Canton and Pat have been helping hold everyone together, especially Audrey and Clint until Francine took him over, while Everett’s been busy with Maggie and Patrick, who has all he can handle with Alice and Steven.  Everyone’s hurting, and it’s gonna take a while for them all to get back on an even keel.”

Steve listened to the litany of names, managing to match them to all the family; well, he wasn’t so sure about the Pat and Canton, but figured they were the elderly men with Audrey, Agent Coulson’s cellist.

“Come on,” Donna urged, “the family really wants you all to join them, including you, Captain Rogers and Prince Thor.”

“It would be an honour,” Thor said solemnly.

“Yes,” Steve echoed, “and it’s Steve.”

Donna gave him a small, pleased smile.  “Then it’s Donna.  Come along, you four.  Let’s go and sit with the rest of the family.”

 _Family_.  Steve didn’t know if she’d meant to include them, but it sounded nice.

The supersoldier had to admit to himself that he was lonely.  Awakening alone so long after he’d thought he was going to die had been jarring; but, what made it worse, was the fact that he really didn’t know anyone anymore.  Sure, there was Peggy, but anymore it was a crapshoot as to her recognising him, let alone where she was now.  It had been heart-breaking; that strong, independent woman reduced to just a shadow of herself.  Steve had loved her, had wanted to spend the future with her – because he’d known back then that spending the future with Bucky had been totally out of the cards, at least in that way – but she was gone now, replaced by the frail elderly woman whose memory would reset at random moments, sometimes while he was talking to her. 

Being introduced to Agent Coulson’s family was a revelation.  They seemed to accept him and Thor into their ranks easily.  He really wanted the story of how Stark and Pepper had met them all, because he was sure it would have been a doozy. 

Up close, Barton looked even worse.  He nodded at Steve and Thor, acknowledging them, but he stayed mostly to the rear of the family gathering, the woman – she was, indeed, Francine, last name Jones – standing beside him like some sort of guardian angel, ready to leap to his defence at a moment’s notice.  Steve was glad that he had someone to watch out for him, especially after hearing just how close he and Agent Coulson had been. 

“And this is Ianto Jones,” Donna said, indicating the young man that Thor had seemed to think wasn’t quite human, “he’s Alice’s Dad’s…husband,” and Steve certainly noticed her hesitation using that word, wondering if she was concerned with how he might react to the idea that two men could get married.  “And no relation to Francine, as much as she might like him to be,” she hastened to add.

“He’s also a big shot with a British Special Ops group,” Stark volunteered. “His security clearance is higher than Fury’s.”

Ianto Jones rolled his eyes good-naturedly in the billionaire’s direction, then smiled pleasantly at Steve.  “Captain Rogers, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”  He offered his hand, and Steve couldn’t help but notice that it was somewhat warmer than he’d been expecting, which added credence to Thor’s comment about this person not being human.

“And Your Highness,” the man bowed in Thor’s direction.  “Thank you for helping to save our planet.  I’m only sorry for the reason it had to have been done.”

Thor returned the bow, and then said something that Steve couldn’t interpret; it was almost a song, the words rumbling and sad, and in a language the supersoldier had never heard before.

Mister Jones looked surprised, and then pleased.  He then proceeded to sing back, his voice strong and sure.  “I shall sing the Song of Mourning for you,” he finally said, “as you have lost something as precious as we have.”

“I thank you,” Thor answered solemnly.  “You would have to no reason to do so, after what my brother has done…”

“He’s still your brother.  Besides, my Jack also lost his brother to madness, so I can understand what that does to a person.”

Thor put his hand on Mr Jones’ shoulder.  “I am glad to know that your kind has not yet all left Midgard.  My father had the honour of once meeting with one of your people; however, even then we knew your race’s days were numbered.”  He shook his head sadly.  “There are times when I simply do not understand Midgardians and what they do to those they do not understand.”

Jones gave the God of Thunder a sad smile.  “You and I both, and yet I’ve dedicated my life to protecting them.”

“I am not so certain I could do the same, if humankind had done the same to my family.”

“I think you’ll find you’ll always want to do the right thing, even if it’s something you never thought of yourself doing.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve cut in, “but Thor had claimed you weren’t human.  But you look like a normal guy…”  His curiosity was poking him with its own proverbial stick, and he’d long learned that it was sometimes best to indulge it.

“It’s a long and sad story, and not one for these surroundings.  Only a handful know outside my family.  Perhaps I’ll tell you it later.”  He gave Steve a smile that was so full of sorrow it wasn’t like any sort of expression he’d ever seen before. 

“Second Jones,” Fury’s voice interrupted what Steve had intended to say.  He turned, and his eyes widened; he’d never seen SHIELD’s Director without his signature coat, but Fury was actually wearing a suit which telegraphed more to the supersoldier than anything else would.  Fury had been Agent Coulson’s friend, and he was mourning as much as the rest of us.

But…Second Jones?  Did that have to do with this Special Ops thing that Stark had mentioned? 

“Director Fury,” Jones answered. 

“I was wondering if you wanted to say anything during the service.”

“I’d love to.”  Jones looked touched by the offer. 

“Good.”  Fury nodded.  “I know Coulson would have appreciated it.”

Before Jones could say anything else, a strident, hate-filled voice snapped, “What the hell is _he_ doing here?”

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

**_8 May 2012_ **

**_The Triskelion_ **

**_Washington DC_ **

****

Clint wanted, more than anything, to feel numb. 

But there was too much pain for that.

It didn’t help that Phil was just there, laying in that damned coffin, and if he heard one more person say it looked as if he was just sleeping Clint was going to scream.  They obviously had never actually _seen_ Phil sleeping, because it wasn’t anything at all resembling how his ex-lover had looked when he’d been actually asleep.  This…this was _empty_ , and _cold_ , and _dead_. Phillip J. Coulson was _anything_ but any of that.  He’d been bright, and warm, and so very alive, _even_ when he’d been deeply sleeping.  What was in that casket…it wasn’t _his_ Phil.  It was wrong, on so many levels.  Phil wasn’t meant to be gone, not like that, and it made Clint want to promise any god or goddess out there anything to bring him back.

He could feel Patrick’s eyes on him.  Clint knew that everyone was worried for him, but they really should have been more concerned with Maggie.  She looked as if she would fall apart at the slightest touch, and it was all Everett could do to keep her from collapsing.  Clint wanted nothing more than to help, but he could barely keep himself in one piece.  He’d have been next to useless in comforting Phil’s sister.  He simply didn’t know _how_.

Francine had his hand in hers, her fingers tangled warmly around his own.  He’d never been so glad to see her when she’d arrived with Ianto and the rest.  He hadn’t expected it, and honestly he’d been so pitifully grateful to have her close by.  He could barely remember his own mother, and Francine had been so quick to accept him…her and Estelle both.  Clint had often wondered if this was what Moms did, or if Francine Jones was just an exception to the rule.  He didn’t know, but he didn’t care.  She was there for him; she’d left London when the archer was very aware that she didn’t like to travel so far away from home, and she’d done it for him. 

And Estelle as well; she’d come when Fury had called, despite her age and being so far away from Wales, where she was used to living.  She’d sucked out all of the poison that Loki had infected him with, and the only reason Estelle wasn’t there was because she didn’t care to be around the dead.  The last thing she needed was to be affected by…by the body in the open coffin.  Clint didn’t understand it, but he believed her when she’d first told him about it.  It made him glad that he didn’t have magic of his own.

Clint was trying to ignore the glances and looks he was getting from many of the SHIELD agents who’d come to pay their respects.  He could understand it.  After all, he’d led the attack on the Helicarrier, even if he’d been under Loki’s control.  Still, that didn’t excuse him; he should have been stronger, and nothing that his ‘family’ said was convincing him that he’d done the best he could.  He was aware that Fury believed it himself, telling Clint that he could have taken a headshot, and not firing into the Kevlar vest he’d been wearing, which had basically saved his life.  Fury was convinced that Clint had still been in there somewhere, because Hill was also still alive, and Hawkeye did not _miss_.  Ever. 

Maybe he was right, but Clint wasn’t so sure.

So, he stayed to the back of the gathering, Francine at his side, ignoring her worried glances as well as the glares from the people he’d worked with for years, trying to stay out of the way as much as possible.

“Clint,” she finally said, “you know you have a home with us, right?  With me and Clive, and Jack and Ianto and the team, and the Delawares?”

He _did_ know that, and said so, even though it still surprised him a little that they were still willing to accept him, as damaged as he was.

“You don’t have to stay here,” she continued.  “These people…I’ve seen the way they look at you, and if they can’t accept that this wasn’t your fault, then they don’t deserve you.”

A hard lump in this throat threatened to choke him.  He couldn’t say anything past it, and instead he squeezed her hand, just to let her know he’d heard her.  It was tempting, it really was, but a part of him wondered if he could stand to be around Phil’s family, now that Phil was gone.  Yes, they’d still accepted him even after he and Phil had drifted apart, but this was different.  Phil was dead, and technically he no longer had that sort of connection with the Delawares.  He had to wonder just how long that welcome would last beyond the funeral.

Then he got mad…at himself, for even thinking they’d just dump him like that.  Over the last couple days, each and every member of the Delaware family had reiterated to him that he would always be a part of them.  Ianto had also reminded Clint of the offer of a job he’d made back during that business at CERN, telling the archer that he’d have a pick of whatever team he wanted to join: Cardiff, or London, or even Torchwood House if he wanted to hide from the world for a while.  All three were still looking for good people, and the dragon had been convinced that any of them would make good use of his skillset. 

Donna had also invited him to stay with her, Wilf, and Sylvia, if he was so inclined, proving just what a good friend she was to him.  They’d always gotten along, although that whole metacrisis thing had been just a wee bit creepy.  Donna was like the sister Clint had never had, and he adored the brash redhead almost as much as he did Natasha.  Her offer was also tempting, and it wasn’t like Fury would refuse him some sort of bereavement leave, if he decided to tough it out in SHIELD.  That was what Phil would have wanted…

No, that wasn’t strictly accurate.

Phil would have wanted him to be _happy_ , no matter where that led him.

Clint just had to figure out what would get him there.

At some point, Audrey had arrived, joining Canton and Pat as they welcomed her with the sprig of cyclamen that every member of the family was wearing.  The flower had been Estelle’s idea; as someone close to the Earth as she was through her magic, his adopted Gran had suggested it, telling them that it signified mourning, and it would be a nice tribute to their loss, even if no one else understood its meaning.  To be honest, Clint thought that Phil would have liked it; while his ex-lover hadn’t really been into flowers, he did appreciate the idea of things with hidden meanings, which only made sense since he was a spy.

 _Had_ appreciated.  _Had_ been a spy.

Fuck, this was going to take some serious getting used to.  Clint wasn’t certain he really ever would.

If he was any less a person, Clint might have disliked Audrey Nathan just on the principle that she’d dated the man that the archer had loved.  However, he really couldn’t do that.  She’d made Phil happy when Clint himself couldn’t, and for that he was predisposed to like her.  It didn’t hurt that she was a very nice person, and in fact had approached him at Patrick and Alice’s wedding and had confided in him that Phil had mentioned him, and they’d done a little bit of bonding over their feelings toward a certain senior agent.  Clint hadn’t said anything at the time, but he’d believed that the couple might have had a chance…if not for the sheer amount of secretiveness that surrounded Phil’s job.  He’d been rooting for them, in some ways, because if Phil couldn’t be happy with him, then Audrey would be a perfectly reasonable alternative. She was a genuinely _good_ person, and he was about to approach her when the Avengers happened, brought over by Donna.

Clint took another step back, not really wanting to deal with them at the moment.  He could sense someone coming up behind him, but he didn’t go on the offensive, realising it was Natasha after years of practice.  Francine glanced behind him, smiling when she noticed Nat there.  “Take care of him while I go and introduce myself?” she requested.

“You just want to see Captain America up close,” Natasha teased. “What would Clive say?”

“I may be married, but I’m not blind.  And Clive would be right beside me, ogling as much as I am.”

Clint couldn’t help the soft chuff of laughter, and Francine brought their clasped hands up to her lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.  Clint couldn’t help but love her fiercely, just for that small touch, and knew that if Francine had been his real Mom he would have turned out so very differently.

But then, chances were he’d never have met Phil.  And there was no way he was going to wish away those memories.

“I’m not going to ask you how you’re holding up,” Natasha murmured, “because I’m pretty certain the answer is, you’re not.”

Clint’s shoulders slumped.  She knew him far too well to even argue about it, so he didn’t even try to convince her that he was doing okay.  He really wasn’t, just from the fact that he couldn’t even bring himself to look at the casket, knowing that Phil was inside it.  He’d done it long enough to leave his small remembrance within it, and to see just how wrong Phil appeared against the white satin, the dark blue of his favourite suit almost black against the brightness. 

The remembrances had been Canton and Pat’s idea.  Apparently, it was something done in the Delaware family: leaving small gifts within the coffin, so that the deceased would have a memento with them in the afterlife.  Ianto had agreed with it, but then dragons were natural hoarders, and even commented on how he’d wished he’d thought of it first. 

Alice and Patrick’s had been an ultrasound image of their new baby.  Phil had been so looking forward to the birth, and had even bought presents for the mother and baby for when they made their first appearance into the wide world.  Getting those gifts from Phil’s place was on Clint’s to-do list, once the funeral was over.

Both Patrick and Alice had, just after being informed of Phil’s death, asked Martha what the gender of their child was.  Alice had informed the family that they intended on naming the baby girl Grace Phillipa, in honour of the uncle she’d never get to meet.

Clint had cried at that announcement, simply because he couldn’t have come up with a better tribute.

His own token had been a single purple rose, tied to an arrow with a purple ribbon.  The rose would eventually wither, but the arrow would remain strong for years.

Clint watched as Rogers and Thor were introduced to the family, ending with Ianto.  Now, there was another person Clint was grateful for.  The dragon has lost so many in his long life, and he didn’t give Clint any sort of platitude about it getting better someday.  Ianto had lost his entire family over a thousand years ago, and he still missed them like crazy.

Okay, the archer was a little surprised when Thor sang to Ianto in greeting, and Ianto sang back.  Clint figured that Thor must have guessed who Ianto was, although he would have given good money to know how he’d done it.

Fury then approached, and spoke to Ianto.  Clint knew what the director was going to ask; for Ianto to say something during the service.  The archer was glad of it.  Phil and Ianto had been friends, the pair of them liaising between the two agencies, and had bonded over their natural efficiency and tendencies to preparedness.

“What the hell is _he_ doing here?”

Clint started, shocked at the hate-filled tone and he knew it was directed at him.  A part of him wanted to cringe away, while another really wanted to punch the agent who’d shouted that question right in the face.

Because, it _was_ a SHIELD agent.  Clint had no idea who he was, but he was staring at Clint angrily, and he just knew that if guns had been allowed in the service he would have had a bullet between the eyes in that moment. 

The entire family stopped what they were doing and glared at the man.  He was standing just in front of Alice, and the expression of utter hatred on his face finally had Clint doing that cringe that his body wanted to commit.

But, before anyone could really react Alice was on her feet, which was impressive considering she looked as if she’s swallowed a basketball and moved like an arthritic grandmother.

She was about a foot shorter than the SHIELD agent, but she stepped right up into the man’s personal space.  She poked him in the well-muscled chest with a finger, demanding, “Name? Rank?” in a tone that would have made Jack very proud.  And was making Ianto the same, judging from the small smirk he had on his face.

Clint glanced at Fury, but he seemed content to let Alice handle things.  The director crossed his arms over his chest, amusement dancing in his one eye.  Chances were, the agent hadn’t even noticed the fucking Director of SHIELD standing close by, and Clint turned back to watch the fireworks.

The agent – tall, blond, and bulky – stared down at Alice as if she was below him.  Oh, _big mistake_.  “Who the hell are you to order me to do anything?” he demanded.

Alice glared him down.  A woman seven months pregnant should not have been as intimidating as she was in that moment.  “I am Alice Harkness-Delaware, and I am the niece of the man we’re mourning here today.  I also outrank you.  So, I ask again: what is your name and your rank?  Oh, and your Supervisory Agent’s name as well, since they apparently have failed in their training and should be informed of that little fact.”

There was some movement off to the side, and Clint didn’t need to look to know that Rogers had taken a step toward the growing confrontation, but someone had stopped him, most likely Ianto. But then, Alice could fight her own battles and flatly refused to be any sort of damsel in distress.

Yes, it didn’t escape Clint that _he_ was the damsel in this scenario, but for some reason he really didn’t mind.  He might have felt personally responsible for everything that had occurred, but his family was of a different opinion, plus he wasn’t about to step between Alice and the idiot determined to piss her off.  He had much better survival instincts than _that_ , despite what Nat often claimed.

The agent didn’t seem at all intimidated.  Another _big mistake_.  “He shouldn’t be here,” he argued.  “It’s all his fault that we have to pay respects to a good man, and to other good men and women who were on the Helicarrier for the attack.  He should be in the brig.”

Alice was getting angrier.  It wasn’t so much in her face, which had a blank expression that would have done Phil proud; it was in the breeze that was impossibly kicking up around her, ruffling the short tassels on the dark blue shawl that had been draped around her shoulders, and the skirt that swirled about her knees, the mark of the Dragon of Air visible on one, slightly swollen, ankle.  That mark was glowing faintly, not enough for anyone except Hawkeye to notice.

“Get out,” she growled, sounding very dragon-like.

Everyone in the room was looking at them now.  Clint wanted to escape the scrutiny, but instead he stood just a little taller, Natasha at his shoulder in obvious support.  She was joined by Canton, Pat, and Audrey, making a united front against the onlookers. 

God, he loved each and every one of them.  Even the woman who’d inadvertently taken the love of his life away for a short time.

That sounded awful in his head.  It hadn’t been Audrey’s fault.  It had been Fury’s, in the end.

“You can’t order me anywhere,” the agent retorted.

Clint also had to wonder who the idiot’s SO was.  Because he _really_ needed to go back to the drawing board where training was concerned, if he wasn’t aware of just how dangerous Alice was.  It had to have been obvious, just from the sudden appearance of a wind that shouldn’t exist inside a closed building.

“I can, and I have.  You are no longer welcome here.  You bring disgrace to my uncle’s memory just by your attitude toward a man who’s as much a member of our family as Phil was.  He would be _ashamed_ of you.  Clint Barton was Uncle Phil’s friend, his _best friend_ , and he’s hurting more than you ever will be by what happened.  To you, Phil Coulson was simply a senior agent with a fierce reputation; to Clint Barton, he was the love of his _life_.”

Clint couldn’t believe that Alice had just outed him and Phil in front of this gathering…let alone in front of the woman Phil had actually been dating for a while before he’d died, even though she’d known about their history.  But Audrey was nodding in agreement as she continued to stand between Pat and Canton, watching the confrontation with a hard glint in her eye that communicated that she wanted her chance to take the agent down a peg or two after Alice had finished with him.  If there was anything left, that was.

The agent stiffened.  “He brought Loki here!  People died because of him!  _Agent Coulson_ died because of him!”

Clint did flinch then.  Natasha made a low, angry sound, gripping his shoulder hard, even though she seemed just fine with letting Alice handle things.  But the bastard was right; Clint _had_ planned the attack on the Helicarrier, it _was_ his fault…

“You know _nothing_ ,” Alice spat.  The breeze had morphed into an even stronger wind, and it was now being noticed by the people standing close enough to really hear the altercation.  The ones who’d gotten too close were now stepping away from what they had to have realised was magic, as Alice became angrier, all on Clint’s behalf.

Except for FitzSimmons, who were watching the confrontation avidly, staying right where they were.  They’d worked for Torchwood, for a short time, and had also been on Phil’s chosen 0-8-4 team.  They’d been at Puente Antiguo, for Thor’s arrival.  Clint thought they were awesome.

Patrick had moved to stand behind his wife, adding his presence to support her.  Francine had also gotten closer, as had the Avengers.  Thor had his hand on Mjolnir, as if he really wanted to smite the idiot whose situational awareness was so bad that he hadn’t yet picked up on Alice’s air magic or the audience that he’d managed to accrue around them, which included the Director of SHIELD himself, who no longer looked amused.

Or the Second of the Torchwood Institute, who was quite possibly the most dangerous person in the room, even though he looked more like a paper pusher instead of someone who could eat the agent in one bite.

All of these people were letting Alice defend him, but were standing just close enough that they could step in if something went wrong.

Clint wanted nothing more than to tell Alice to stop.  That he wasn’t worth it.  But the archer was well aware of her opinion on that subject, as well as the ones held by every single person who was coming to his ‘rescue’. 

“I dare you to say you could have thrown off Loki’s control,” the Friend of Air snarled.  “Go on…tell me you’re mentally stronger than any of the other agents that were taken over.  That you’re mentally stronger than _Clint Barton_ , who has done more to save this bloody planet than you will _ever_ be able to accomplish.  Because he is a much better person than you will ever hope to be.  Now…get out.  The family stands behind Clint, and you’re not a part of this.  And, if you’d even met Phil Coulson, you would have known that he would _never_ have blamed Clint – or any of the others that were magically controlled – for what had happened.”

“I would listen to the lady, agent,” Fury finally spoke up.  “She may be pregnant, but she can still kick your ass.”

The offender finally noticed that his boss was standing with the rest of the Delaware family, and he paled what had to have been the sudden knowledge that he’d probably just screwed up his entire career.  “Director…” he gasped.

“Did I stutter, agent?  I’d listen to Mrs Harkness-Delaware, because she’s about one inch away from taking you down, and you’re too stupid to figure that out.  But then, she’d probably enjoy it.  I understand pregnancy hormones can be a real bitch, and she’s more than likely looking for any excuse.”

“Fury,” Thor chimed in, “this man is insulting My Lord Hawk and My Lady of Air.  Shall I eject him from these solemn proceedings?”

Trust Thor to know exactly who Alice was.  Clint quite liked that: My Lady of Air.  He was so going to use that.  He could tell Patrick was quite happy with the title as well, from the pleased grin on his face.  It was an expression that emphasised the differences between Patrick and his uncle, because Phil hadn’t actually had a smile like that.  Phil’s had been smaller, and yet they’d never lacked sincerity.  Not that Patrick’s smile wasn’t sincere; it was just a different kettle of fish altogether.

The agent swallowed hard as Alice squarely met his eyes.  “I think I would appreciate that, Your Highness.  Although I could toss him out through the windows if I felt like it.”

The winds that had been kicked up by Alice’s temper were fading, and of course that was when the agent noticed them.  He looked vaguely ill, as he figured out that Alice was being perfectly sincere in her threat.

Although the windows were shatter-resistant and bulletproof, Clint had no doubt at all that she’d be able to do exactly what she’d said. 

“Aye, my lady, I am quite certain you could.  But why do this yourself when you have someone so willingly able to accomplish this for you?”

“I do think Uncle Phil would appreciate the whole chucking out of the window thing, though,” Steven spoke up, coming to his mother’s side.  “Especially since this twat was speaking against Uncle Clint like that.”

Surprisingly, neither Alice nor Patrick called their son down for his language.  Or, if they did, Clint didn’t notice, too busy being shocked at the ‘Uncle Clint’ thing.  Since when had _that_ started?  This was the first he was hearing it!

“Yeah, kid, he would,” Fury agreed.  “But he’d hate the paperwork that came from the property damage.”

Several of the spectators tittered at Fury’s comment, and FitzSimmons were both nodding in complete agreement.  A lot of the junior agents believed that Phil loved paperwork, when he really hadn’t.  He’d just hated the idea of it being left for later, because that just meant more work piling up.  Phil had firmly been of the opinion that getting that sort of chore done right away meant he wouldn’t have to do it later.

The agent must have realised that he’d lost whatever allies he’d had…or else, they’d just gone back into hiding.  Clint didn’t doubt for a second that they’d pop back out of the woodwork at the right time.  The man took a single step back from Alice and then hurried around her and out of the hall like his ass was on fire.

And Clint supposed it _would_ have been, if Kathy Swanson-Sato had been present.

Once the idiot was gone, Alice crumpled, and it was only Patrick and Steven propping her up that kept her from hitting the floor.  Clint’s heart hammered in his chest as they got her back to her chair.  “That was impressive,” Patrick commented, “but let’s not do that again, okay?  At least not until Gracie is born.”

“Mum?” Steven asked worriedly, hovering over her as Alice got her breathing back under control.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured them – and the rest of the family, all of whom had taken to the exact same hovering that the teen was doing.  “Can I get a glass of water, please?”

“I’ll fetch it,” Donna volunteered, striding away.  People jumped out of her way as she passed.

“Do you need someone from Medical?” Fury asked solicitously.  “I can get a medic here in minutes.”

“Or I can take a look, Director,” Jemma Simmons volunteered.  “I’m not a gynaecologist or obstetrician by any stretch of the imagination…”

“Check her over as best you can,” the Director ordered.  “I’ll send for someone with a medkit just in case.”

Alice waved them both off, but Patrick agreed quickly.  She gave him an irritated eye roll at his mother henning, but she didn’t say anything else as the Director called over the comms for someone to come down, and Jemma hurried over to check her pulse, Fitz hovering just out of the way.

Clint, though…he knelt in front of her.  “You didn’t have to do that,” he murmured, taking her hand in his. 

Now, _he_ was the target for the irritated eye roll.  “Of course I did.  You’re family, Clint Barton.  And _this_ family looks out for its own.”

“She’s right, you know,” Ianto agreed.  Clint’s eyes found the dragon; he was standing behind Alice’s chair, his eyes old and sad, and yet there was a determination in them that had the archer’s heart hammering a little harder in his chest.  “You’re _ours_ , Clint.  You always will be, no matter where life takes us all.”

“Please tell us you’re not thinking of staying here,” Francine begged.  Her own eyes were glassy, but she must have fought back the tears.  Francine Jones, one of the fiercest women he’d ever met, had come very close to crying because of what that unknown agent had said about Clint.  That…was humbling.

To tell the truth, he hadn’t really decided what he was going to do.  He had so many options, and did he really want to remain with SHIELD, where there were agents who would continue to hold his actions against him?  Yes, Clint was to blame, and leaving felt a lot like running away, but these people were the family he’d somehow gained through his relationship with Phil.

Well, except for Ianto, Donna, Francine, all of Torchwood, and FitzSimmons, as well as Estelle back at the house, waiting for them all to come back.  These he’d gained because he’d been hurt on a mission, and had taken an escort job that had really been for an agent of a much lower level than Clint had been.  He’d been bored, and hadn’t really understood a lot of the science behind CERN, but he’d volunteered anyway, just to get away from headquarters for a bit. 

He’d come out of that milk run with good friends and a promotion.  It really was crazy how life was sometimes.  Little had he known what that mission would lead to.

And, after that, had come the family he’d never had.

A part of him wanted to stay with SHIELD, to atone for what he’d done under Loki’s control.  The problem was, everything reminded him of Phil, and that was even before all of the hate aimed in his direction by people he’d once fought with and bled for.

He was quiet just a little too long, because Francine didn’t look happy, but she rested a hand on his shoulder.  “Whatever you decide, sweetheart.  We’ll back you one hundred percent.”

“She’s right,” Alice said.  “And you at least have to be in London for the birth of this one.”  She stroked her distended belly gently.  “Grace Phillipa needs to meet her new uncle.”

Clint didn’t know what to say, and he was saved from saying anything by the arrival of a medic, carrying a large kit with the eponymous SHIELD eagle embossed on the front.  Clint moved out of her way, letting her join Simmons as she examined Alice, Jemma asking her questions about the pregnancy and if she had any sort of conditions that would make it more difficult to carry a child, the medic taking notes and handing Jemma what she asked for out of the medkit.

The archer moved away, and the Avengers went with him, as well as Natasha, Francine, and Donna.  Donna looped one arm around his bicep, while Francine wrapped her arm around him on the opposite side, so that Clint had to rest his own arm on her shoulders.  Natasha appeared to be satisfied with things the way they were, and stood beside them contentedly; but then, she wasn’t an overly touchy-feely sort of person. 

“Francine’s right, you know,” Donna said.  “You can’t honestly be thinking about staying with SHIELD, not if there’s gonna be agents who are blaming you for something that was out of your control.”

“Listen to them,” Natasha urged.  “You’re going to be nothing but unhappy if you choose to remain.”

Clint sighed.  Even Natasha was urging him to leave.  Maybe they were correct; after all, they were ganging up on him, even if it was a gentle gang-up.  He knew, in his heart of hearts, that they only had his best interests in mind. 

“I need to think, and this isn’t the best place for it,” he admitted.  SHIELD had been his life for nearly two decades.  He couldn’t just make that sort of decision on the basis of a few agents who were pissed off at him for his actions on the Helicarrier.  Besides, they were right.  He was to blame, even if Loki had been the one behind the wheel, so to speak. 

He’d get through the service, and the burial – they’d all invited him back to Wisconsin to attend – and then he’d take some time to get his head back on straight.

Then he’d make his decision.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

**_8 May 2012_ **

**_The Triskelion_ **

**_Washington DC_ **

****

The service got underway.

Steve sat with Stark, Ms Potts, and Thor, about halfway back in the hall, listening as various agents and guests got up to eulogise Agent Phillip J. Coulson.  He shouldn’t have been surprised at the heartfelt words of the people who’d stood beside that casket, telling stories and sharing with everyone present what it had meant to work with the agent.  One of the men, a distinguished-looking gentleman, had been introduced as a former President of the United States, and he explained how he’d met Agent Coulson, the man assigned to his protection detail under the guise of an FBI agent.  President Bartlett hadn’t discovered just who the agent had been until after the fact, and he said how he’d laughed when he’d learned the truth.

Steve was incredibly impressed by everyone who got up in front of that gathering and told their own, unique, tale of Agent Coulson.  He regretted that he didn’t have his own to share, even as Stark was making his way back from his own speech, surreptitiously wiping his eyes after bringing a few laughs to those who were obviously mourning with his imitation of Coulson telling Stark that he’d use a taser on him and leave him drooling on the carpet.  Steve hadn’t known the agent well enough, but he’d laughed as well, because tasing Tony Stark would most likely be the only real way to get him to shut up.

Thor had perhaps laughed the hardest, making a comment about how this would have been yet another fine ode to the Son of Coul’s daring.  Steve wondered if he was taking notes, so he could go back to Asgard and have someone write the very odes he kept going on about.

Agent Coulson’s first partner, Melinda May, also said a few words, her dour expression not hiding her own grief.  She’d shared a story about an op in Sausalito that had many of the gathered group chuckling.

The pair of young agents who’d assisted Mrs Harness-Delaware after her argument with the idiot who’d blamed Barton for what had happened were named Jemma Simmons and Leo Fitz, and they spoke about being assigned to Agent Coulson’s special 0-8-4 team.  Steve made a mental note to ask what that designation meant.

There was a man named John Garrett, a bit of a blowhard whose storytelling style ran to the bombastic.  Steve couldn’t tell if people were laughing _at_ him, or _with_ him.  Well, Steve knew which one _he_ was doing.

Natasha spoke as well; Steve had heard of the infamous Strike Team Delta, but he hadn’t really understood that they’d been as much a family as anyone could, bound together by blood and duty.  He also hadn’t been aware of just who Delta was, until she began her own goodbye to the agent who lay in that coffin.

Clint Barton didn’t get up.  Steve could understand why, especially after the confrontation earlier.

A part of him could see where the agent had come from.  Steve had lost a lot of people, and he’d always had people he could blame for those losses.  Schmidt, HYDRA…they were the ones who’d taken Bucky from him, and had caused the deaths of far too many innocents.  That agent – Steve never did learn his name – also needed someone to blame.

But that person wasn’t Agent Barton.

No, Barton was as much a victim as the man they were saying goodbye to.  He’d been taken against his will, his mind controlled, and anyone he’d killed had, ultimately, been casualties that could be chalked up to Loki.  It had been Loki’s commands that Barton had acted on, and whatever that sceptre had done it had wrecked its victims in ways that would take a long time to get over. 

Barton was considering leaving SHIELD.  If what Natasha had spoken of, as she’d told stories of Agent Coulson’s abilities with their strike team, Barton had been with SHIELD for quite a long time.  Loki twisting the archer against his own will had to have been taking a toll on the man, and it certainly wasn’t helping that Agent Coulson had been one of the casualties.  Barton had obviously been in love, and the agent’s death was destroying him worse than the doubts he’d been having about his responsibility in Coulson’s murder.

Steve couldn’t blame him for wanting to start fresh somewhere else, though.  The Delawares wanted Barton to be happy, and that was going to take some doing.  Being in SHIELD, with the recriminations that had been thrown around earlier, wouldn’t really do Barton any good.  The supersoldier was hoping to talk to him about the Avengers being an option; after all, apparently Barton had been the second person Coulson had wanted in the Initiative, right after Stark.  That made sense; Steve had seen the archer’s expertise in the field, and he could honestly say that they might not have won the way they had without Barton on the team.

And then, Second Ianto Jones rose and walked toward the coffin.

He stood there for a moment, just looking down at the body within, and for a moment Steve didn’t think he was going to say anything. 

And he didn’t.

Instead, he sang.

The words weren’t in any language Steve had ever heard, until Thor had sung earlier.  However, he didn’t need to know what the song _said_ ; it was the very tone of it that had him moved almost to tears.

There was such grief and loss in it, as the song echoed to the very rafters.  Within the first few syllables, the entire Delaware family – including Natasha, Donna Noble, Barton, Miss Nathan, and Francine Jones – stood, some of them joining in as Second Jones literally poured his heart out in the music.  Thor was also on his feet immediately, followed by Stark and Ms Potts and Fitz and Simmons, and Steve couldn’t help but get to his feet as well.  Fury was also out of his seat, and throughout the room a few others did as well, even if they had no idea – like Steve – what that horribly sad tribute actually meant.

Thor joined in, his voice almost quiet, a change from his usual, boisterous, manner.  Steve wished he knew what the words were, but at the same time the sheer sadness in its tone and measure were heart-breaking.  It had him recalling the terrible day that Bucky had fallen from the train; of his goodbye to Peggy, knowing he wasn’t ever going to get that dance with her, then seeing her again as she was now, a mere shadow of the bold woman he remembered so well. 

That song was sheer sorrow.  And it was affecting everyone within the hall.

As the song gradually ended, fading out to a final whisper, there wasn’t a dry eye in the place.  Even Fury appeared to be choked up; such was the sheer power…the _magic_ …of that song.

In that moment, Steve knew, without a doubt, that Ianto Jones truly wasn’t human.  That Thor had been correct, that he’d noticed something in the person that had given the game away. Nobody human could have wielded that song as he had, even in that unknown language, with such heartrending majesty.  Second Jones was something not of this world, something primal and old and…Steve didn’t have the words to describe the effect, really.

Everyone who’d stood, now sat, and Steve quietly asked Thor about the song. 

“T’was the Song of Mourning,” the Thunderer explained.  “I have never heard it before, only knew of it from my teachings, but it was truly as powerful as the ancient stories tell.  Despite the reason for it, I am honoured to have finally heard it sung properly.”

Second Jones remained standing, one hand resting on the closed bottom of the casket.  “I first became aware of Agent Coulson in 2002.  Our meeting was the reason he was promoted so early to Level 6, as the organisation I work for is classified to that level.  SHIELD had come to Wales because of rumours of some sort of cartel running guns, and had set up shop in Cardiff.  What he didn’t know at the time – and found out quite by chance – was that my team was also investigating, and that our agency had jurisdiction.  He and his then-partner, Agent Melinda May, were instrumental in helping to shut the cartel down, and for Phil’s ‘sins’,” the air quotes were obvious even without being pointed out, “Director Fury – who was only Deputy Director at the time – decided that he’d make an excellent liaison between our two groups.  We’d talk once a month, just to keep each of our groups informed as well as complain about our bosses,” that had laughter sounding out over the quiet gathering, “and he quickly went from a colleague, to a friend.  When he became field leader of Strike Team Delta, we received a new liaison, but we still kept in touch.

“However, it wasn’t until we hired Phil’s nephew, Patrick, that that friendship changed.  Now, I’m proud to call him family, and that had happened even before my daughter married his nephew.” His eyes, so incredibly old and sad, glanced over the audience, which had gone absolutely silent.  It was like a blanket over them all, and Steve wanted to make some sort of noise, anything to break the pall that had fallen, but he didn’t dare.  “Now, Phil is gone, and he’s left behind a family and friends who will miss him terribly.  I can only hope he finds peace with whatever deities he chose to believe in.” Second Jones’ voice cracked at that last part, and he looked down once more, long fingers brushing the black wood of the casket.  “Goodbye, my dear friend.  You will be missed.”

With those final words, Jones stepped away from the casket.  Miss Nathan got up, passing him; Jones gave her a short hug, and then he was seated with the family once more.  Steve watched as he unashamedly put his arm around Barton, tucking the agent against him as the man wept, offering what comfort he could.

Miss Nathan took up her cello, and the melancholy strains of the instrument rose up over the gathering.  It was beautiful, so much soul being poured into the music, but following Second Jones’ own song it simply couldn’t compare.  Still, it was a tribute to a man that Steve sincerely wished he’d been able to get to know better, and now never would.

After Miss Nathan finished her solo, the service came to an end.  Chairs scraped the floor as people got up to leave, and Steve took the opportunity to go up to the casket, to pay his final respects.  He knew he wasn’t alone, but he didn’t care who followed him.  He’d missed this when they’d arrived, and it only felt right to do it now.

He almost wished he hadn’t.

Steve remembered the agent that had been on the Quinjet, who’d given him the briefing and then had promptly embarrassed himself.  This still, pale, silent… _being_ …wasn’t him.  This wasn’t the agent on the Helicarrier who’d explained about his collectible cards, looking almost like a little kid when he’d asked Steve to sign them for him. 

Yet, he stood there, hands clasped in front of him, wondering just how someone said farewell to a person one had hardly known, and yet had a great deal of respect for and who might have been a true friend.

His eyes caught sight of the small items within the coffin. 

There was an odd picture, black and white, with a strange lump in it that finally resolved itself into the unmistakable shape of a baby. 

An arrow had been laid across the still chest, and it had a purple rose tied to it with an equally purple ribbon. 

A photograph of a young boy and girl, dressed up for Halloween: the boy as Captain America, the girl as a fairy tale princess. 

A clear blue crystal, glittering under the sunlight streaming in from the windows.

A tarnished-looking key on a brighter metal chain.

The black steel of a handgun, fastidiously cleaned and oiled, tucked between the shoulder and the white of the satin cloth of the casket’s lining.

There was a bottle of liquor, just poking out from under the closed section of the coffin.

 _The Art of War,_ by Sun Tzu.

Someone had tucked a comic book under the cushion at the head of the deceased, and Steve barely hid his blush when he noticed that it was a _Captain America_ comic.

But the one thing he couldn’t identify had been placed upon the dark blue tie.  It was green, and it looked fragile, one edge curled up slightly.  It was rounded on one end, flat on the other, and Steve wondered if it wasn’t some sort of scale.  But he couldn’t figure out what would have been large enough to shed something like that.

“It’s a Delaware family tradition,” a soft voice murmured from near his elbow.

Steve glanced over.  Donna had stepped up beside him, on the side opposite from Stark and a sniffling Ms Potts.  “What?” he asked, sounding a little stupid to his own ears.

The red-headed Londoner didn’t react to that, however.  “Leaving little remembrances in the casket,” she clarified.  “It’s a Delaware family tradition.”

“I wish we’d known,” Ms Potts said quietly. 

Donna looked abashed.  “Sorry about that, I should’ve said something when I called about the arrangements.”

“I can’t believe you left your key,” Canton Delaware replied, stepping up next to Donna. 

She shrugged.  “I wasn’t gonna use it again, was I?  Besides, Phil always enjoyed hearing stories about the Doctor, even though he thought Spaceman was a bit of a git for insulting Clint that one time.”

“Not _my_ Doctor,” Canton denied. “Mine would’ve been a bit nicer about it.”

Steve was confused, and would have said so but for Thor, who interrupted, “You know of the Doctor?” He sounded almost excited.

“Travelled with him for a bit,” Donna admitted.  “Me and Canton both.  Canton left him on good terms; me, not so much.  But it was great while it lasted.  I shouldn’t be surprised you know about him, really.”

“He once came to Asgard.  He was of aid to Odin Allfather during a particularly dark time, although he did leave much chaos in his wake.”

“Yeah,” Donna breathed, sounding melancholy, “he’s good at that sort of thing.  Both the helping and the chaos.”  Mister Delaware nodded in agreement.

Steve shook off this mystery, although he made a mental note to come back to it at some point, because if he was understanding it right then Donna had once travelled with an alien being.  That was definitely something he wanted to hear about.  Instead, he had an inspiration and, reaching into the pocket of his suit, he brought out his own battered and bloody trading card, the one he’d taken from the pile that Fury had tossed down as proof of death for Agent Coulson.  “Does anyone have a pen?”

“Yeah, Capsicle,” Stark handed over a silver pen that probably cost more than the suit Steve was currently wearing.  “You planning on doing what I think you’re doing?”

“Well, if you mean, am I going to sign this card and put it in the casket, then you’d be correct.” It was the right thing to do, even if Agent Coulson wouldn’t appreciate it now.

Donna was giving him a sweet smile.  “Now, that’s a remembrance.  Thank you for that. Phil would have gone all nerdy over it, although he would have been right disapproving about having bled all over it before you signed it.”

Finding a place on the card that wasn’t obscured by the now-rust coloured blood, Steve signed it with a flourish and tucked it into Agent Coulson’s suit jacket pocket, where it would be safe.  It felt strange touching a corpse, especially one of a man he could have been friends with, but the supersoldier didn’t want to risk it getting lost some way.  Chances were, it wouldn’t, but he wasn’t going to take the chance.

“Second Jones!”

The urgency of Director Fury’s call had Steve spinning around; Fury hadn’t sounded at all like that in all the time the supersoldier had known him which, albeit, hadn’t been all that long.  Still, SHIELD’s Director was striding toward Second Jones, who was with Clint and the rest of the Delawares, looking ready to leave the Triskelion.

The young man – who, if what Steve had heard was correct, wasn’t really a man at all, or young – turned to regard Fury.  “Is there a problem, Director?” he asked politely.

“A really big one,” Fury proclaimed.  He was holding one of those tablet computers Steve had seen around, and he handed it to Jones the moment he was close enough to do so.  Intrigued, Steve moved closer, Stark, Ms Potts, Donna, and the elder Mr Delaware with him.  “Tell me these things aren’t what I think they are.”

Jones took the tablet warily, frowning down at the screen.  Patrick Delaware looked around the Welshman’s shoulder, and suddenly began cursing like the proverbial sailor.

“Fuck, they are,” Fury assumed, looking even more unhappy than before. 

Steve was actually tall enough to peer over Jones’ shoulder.  The picture on the tablet was showing tall, silver robots firing into a crowd of people, using futuristic ray guns.  They were silver, with strange handles on their heads, and quite honestly were one of the most frightening things Steve had ever seen, and he’d dealt with the Red Skull.  “What are they?” he asked, suddenly itching for his shield, which he’d left in the jet that had carried them to Washington DC.

Before Jones answered, he turned to the younger Mr Delaware.  “Patrick,” he ordered, “call Jack.  Have him authorise Toshiko to download to the SHIELD servers everything we have that SHIELD doesn’t already.”

“You got it, Boss.”  Patrick was pulling a phone out of his suit pocket.

“Can you get that to JARVIS as well?” Stark demanded.

Jones nodded in response.  “You’re going to need to see it as well, Tony, although I’m certain Toshiko would have done it without prompting.”  The words were fondly exasperated.

“That’s because Tosh loves me!”

Jones rolled his eyes and handed the tablet to Clint, who took it and then promptly passed it around to the rest of the family.  The moment Donna got her hands on it, she said something extremely unladylike then passed it on to Canton, who said something even worse.

“That bad?” Ms Potts enquired.

“That,” Jones waved his hand at the tablet, “is known as a Cyberman.  There are two types: ones that come from another dimension, and who are responsible, along with the Daleks, for the destruction of Torchwood One at Canary Wharf and the deaths of nearly one thousand people…”

“Shit,” Stark spat, obviously getting the reference.

“And these, which are from the planet, Mondas,” Jones went on, as if the genius hadn’t interrupted.  “They’ve come to Earth many times, trying to conquer the planet, but they’ve been fought off each time, although the loss of life has always been tremendous.  Where are these, Director?”

“New York,” Fury replied.  “They’ve laid siege to the United Nations.”

“That’s a damned good target,” Canton commented.  “If they gain control of the UN, they’ll have access to some of the most powerful people on the planet.”

“What will happen to the people?” Steve wanted to know.

Jones sighed.  “The Cybermen have only one goal: to ‘upgrade’ the races of the universe, to make them like they are.  You see, the Cybermen were once human beings, only from another world.  They began replacing parts of themselves with machinery, until there was nothing left but their brains, and then they messed with those as well.  This means they have no emotions, and are totally and completely ruthless.  When they take control, they make the populace over to look like them, or they kill them if they aren’t suitable for conversion.”

Steve barely managed to hide his shiver.  That sounded like something out of a horror story, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it, even though he did keep it to himself, as Jones had turned toward Stark and was speaking once more.

“When you first came on the scene as Iron Man, we seriously considered that you might be some sort of cyborg, along the lines of the Cybermen.  Phil explained that this wasn’t the case, however, and vouched for you with us.”

“You would’ve come after me if I had been.”  It wasn’t a question.

Jones nodded, not saying a word.  But then, he didn’t really have to. Even though Steve didn’t know the entire story behind the Cybermen, he could imagine just what a nightmare it would have been if such a race arose on Earth.

Stark went pale.  “Then I’m glad Agent was able to explain it.  I doubt I would’ve stood much of a chance if Torchwood would’ve been on my ass.”

“Wait,” Steve said, “this is the second time you’ve mentioned this Torchwood.  Just what is it?”

“I’ll explain on the transport back to New York,” Jones answered briskly.  “We need to get moving.  If we hope to be able to stop them before the casualties grow out of control.”

“I hope you brought all your gear,” Fury proclaimed, “because it’s time to suit up.”

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

**_8 May 2012_ **

**_Enroute to New York_ **

****

Clint didn’t know how Fury had managed to get all their stuff onto the first available Quinjet, as well as a pilot for it, but he couldn’t help but be impressed.  There also was quite a supply of weapons on the plane that had Patrick drooling just a little, including the really big gun that the archer had heard through the grapevine Phil had used on Loki before finally dying.

He wasn’t so sure how to feel about that.  Pride in the idea that his ex-lover had kicked Loki’s ass even when he was fatally wounded, but…kinda weirded out by that thing, as well. 

Natasha, though, had taken the credit when Clint had found his bow and quiver onboard, even though she didn’t admit to how she’d done it.  The last time he’d seen them, they’d been confiscated by SHIELD when he’d been picked up during the so-called shawarma feast after the Battle of New York, as the news outlets were calling it.

Once the Quinjet was in the air, Ianto began the briefing on the Cybermen.  Honestly, Clint already had enough nightmares to last a lifetime.  He really didn’t need anymore, which was now pretty much guaranteed after hearing all about these Cyber-douchebags’ origins.

“The Cybermen are notoriously hard to kill,” the dragon said. Ianto stood on the deck, hands behind his back like he was some visiting professor, his expression at ease but Clint really knew just how uncomfortable he was with flying.  Ianto had once told him that it made him feel as if he was trapped, and Clint could understand it.  Changing into his dragon form would have been nearly impossible unless Ianto somehow left the plane; which, at least in a Quinjet, it was fairly easy to do.

“Then how do you propose we do that?” Rogers asked, squarely into Captain America mode, although the cowl to his suit was pushed back to reveal his face.  Clint could recall just how excited Phil had been about them finding the supersoldier in the ice, and how he’d had input into the creation of Steve’s new uniform.

But then, Phil had also had input into Clint’s own uniform, and he’d protested vociferously against the first version of Natasha’s catsuit, saying it was way too revealing and impractical for combat.  The idiots in R&D had laughed it off…until Natasha had returned the completed outfit shredded into little pieces.  Clint still wasn’t sure how she’d managed to cut up all that Kevlar-lined cloth, but it had been impressive as hell.

“Gold is the Cyberman’s number one weakness.  Since we don’t have a handy supply of that, then decapitation,” Ianto answered, “but you have to watch out for the heads trying to reattach themselves. So destroying it completely once it’s been removed from the shoulders would be the best way to go.  Tony,” he turned toward Stark, who hadn’t put on the armour yet although the case that contained it was sitting at his feet, “your repulsors should do well enough if you aim for the chest piece, as should that gun Patrick is trying to seduce.”

“Hey!” Patrick exclaimed without heat. Of course, Patrick had picked the biggest gun of the lot, not coincidentally the Destroyer gun of Phil’s.  Patrick knew quality when he saw it, especially in weapons.

“I know, Clint, you can hit an eye at several hundred yards, which is the way to go in your case,” the dragon continued, “if you can use explosive tips that would be ideal, but a regular broadhead should also make enough mess of a Cyberman’s brain to take it down for good.”

Clint nodded.  He had quite a few explosive tips, but his normal arrows far outweighed those.  Besides, while he might be an idiot who liked to jump off buildings, there was something about willingly carrying around mini bombs on his back that could, in some circumstances, make his skin crawl.

“Natasha, your guns most likely won’t do all that much, but your Widow’s Bites might knock the Cybermen for six.  Just be careful, and don’t let them get their hands on you.  You might be deadly in a hand-to-hand fight with a normal human, but a Cyberman could rip your arms off without any effort.”

“Well,” Natasha drawled, “that’s cheery.”

Ianto gave her one of his best eye rolls and went on.  “Tony, did you get in touch with Dr Banner?”

“Yep, he’s gonna be on his way the moment I tell him we’re five minutes out.  He didn’t want to engage without the rest of us there.”

“That makes sense.  It’s going to be bad enough casualty-wise without the Hulk being shot at and it pissing him off.  And Thor,” he turned toward the Asgardian, “your lightning should be effective, and I’m quite certain you’ll be able to flatten a few with Mjolnir.”

Thor hefted his hammer, which had the effect of showing off those arms of his.  Clint knew his own biceps were impressive, but he also knew when he was outgunned, as it were.  “Aye, we shall make sport of these Cybermen.  I have heard of them, and they would be worthy opponents.”

“What about you?”  Rogers asked.  He’d been quite happy with letting Ianto make all the suggestions he had about how to fight this new threat, and Clint had been pleased by that.  But then, Rogers was a strategist, and knew the need for complete intel, which Ianto had in spades.

Ianto gave him a small, cryptic, smile.  “I have my own ways of attack.”

“That’s because you’re not human.”  Clint wanted to bristle at that, but Rogers wasn’t being confrontational; he was clearly just stating facts.  “Thor happened to say something, and Stark pretty much confirmed it without actually confirming it.”

That had Ianto laughing.  “Yes, I’m not human, although I was born on Earth.  Once we get into the fight, you’ll see exactly what I can do.”

“You know, Eragon,” Stark put in, sounding slightly worried, “Jack’s not gonna be at all happy with you showing yourself like this.  Maybe you should let us handle the Cybermen…”

Clint wanted to hug Tony Stark in that moment.  He suddenly understood exactly why Phil had held such a high opinion of the genius, even as his ex-lover had been complaining that Stark was going to drive him to drink.  He was genuinely concerned about Ianto outing himself and was making certain that the dragon really wanted to take this course of action. 

“If you keep rolling your eyes like that, Boss,” Patrick teased, “they’re gonna get stuck that way.”

Clint snorted, and Natasha shook her head almost fondly.  Stark barked a laugh, while Rogers sighed. 

“If you’d done your own research,” Ianto said, smirking, “then you’d know that Eragon was the boy in the story.  If you were being correct character-wise, then you’d have used Saphira.”

Steve looked confused, but then Clint doubted he’d had time to read any books or to see many movies since being thawed out.

Stark blew off the correction.  “You didn’t answer me, Ianto.”

“I know.”  Ianto crossed his arms over his chest.  “I know it’s going to upset Jack, but we cannot risk the Cybermen even getting a single foothold here in New York.  We don’t have an accurate count as yet; we could be dealing with a full-blown army.  There’s no telling how long they’ve been here, and how many people they’ve assimilated.  We need to hit them hard, and fast, and I’ll be as successful at taking them down as the rest of you will be.  Jack will just have to understand that.”

“Will this put you in danger?” Rogers demanded.  He didn’t look happy, and now Clint wanted to hug him as well.  He didn’t even know what they were talking about.

“Not in danger, per se, but it will certainly make it harder for me to hide myself from now on.  Luckily, no one will be able to connect this,” he waved a hand down his body, “with what is going to fight with you.  Although I suspect Her Majesty might not be too happy with me.  She’s quite protective.”

He then settled back into lecture mode.  “Captain, you asked me about Torchwood, and I think it’s time you had an explanation.”

That had Stark cackling.  “At least it’s you explaining it, and not Jack.”

Clint couldn’t actually disagree with that sentiment.

“We’re Torchwood,” Patrick said, doing a remarkable imitation of Jack Harkness, “outside the Government, beyond the Police.  Fighting for the future on behalf of the human race.”

“The twenty-first century is when it all changes,” Clint piped up, not even bothering to do it the way Jack always did, “and Torchwood is ready.”  He did strike the pose, although he knew it didn’t look as impressive without the greatcoat.

It was Ianto’s turn to crack up, bending over slightly as he laughed.  “My mate really is predictable,” he said breathlessly.  “Someone please tell me that was recorded.”

“You even have to ask?” Stark said, sounded offended.

“I need a copy of that.  Please send it to me when you get the chance.”

Stark touched the Bluetooth device in his ear.  “JARVIS sent it to your email.”

Ianto took a deep breath to settle himself back down.  “I apologise for that, Captain.  Our Director, Captain Jack Harkness, gives that exact same speech to anyone new to the Institute.”

“Tis an impressive speech,” Thor allowed.

“I’ll make sure to tell him that, although you didn’t really get the full effect of the Harkness charisma to go along with it.  Well, anyway, Torchwood has been around in the UK since 1879, when it was chartered by Queen Victoria in order to fight threats to the Empire…threats being extra-terrestrial ones.  We’ re almost like SHIELD…only it’s all aliens, all the time, and we’ve been doing it much longer.  We’re also above top secret, and as Tony and Clint will tell you, they both had to sign a ream of documents when they were read into things.  Captain…Thor…I’ll have to ask you to do the same, once this is over.  We cannot have Torchwood’s existence made widely known.”

“You have been doing this work as long as that?” Thor asked, sounding vaguely in awe.

“I’ve only been with Torchwood since 2000,” the dragon answered.  “Director Harkness, though, has been at it much longer.”

Ianto didn’t mention that Jack was immortal, but then of course Clint hadn’t expected him to.  It was bad enough that a dragon was about to show up with the Avengers; Jack’s immortality was quite possibly the one thing that no one wanted to share outside their group.  It had taken that shit with the Daleks for Clint to learn about it.  The archer wasn’t so sure that living forever was all that good a thing, to be honest.

“October 31, 2000,” Patrick clarified.  “That’s the day Jack and Ianto took over the Institute in Cardiff.  We celebrate it every year…with karaoke.”

“Hey, now,” Clint protested.  “How come I’ve never been invited?”

“You’ve never been in Cardiff at the time,” Patrick answered.

Alright, he had a point.

“If you come and work for us,” Ianto added slyly, “then of course you’d be invited every year.”

Rogers was frowning, and Stark fidgeted, but Natasha looked as if she really wanted him to agree with Ianto and go to work for Torchwood.  To be honest, Clint was very tempted to do just that.  After all, SHIELD was becoming uncomfortable to hang around, not that Clint could blame the agents who were holding what had happened at the Helicarrier against him.  He’d led the assault, and people had died… including Phil, who Clint had loved for years, so much so that he’d let him go when he’d met Audrey.  Sure, they’d been assigned apart more often than together at that point, but all Clint wanted was for Phil to be happy.  And, if it wasn’t with him…well, that wasn’t the first time he’d thought that.

But, no one in Phil’s family, or in Torchwood, seemed to be blaming him for that had gone on.  It was almost inconceivable that the Coulson-Delawares wouldn’t hate him for his part in Phil’s death.  Still, they’d accepted Clint into the family, even though he wasn’t really connected to them any longer, and it was amazing to the archer that they were so willing to do just that.

And then there was Torchwood.

How could they really want someone who’d been so easily compromised?  Honestly, how was he even in this Quinjet, joking around and going into battle with a race of creatures hellbent on assimilating everyone they could get their mechanical hands on?

A very vague thought crossed his mind, wondering if the creators of the Borg had somehow found out about the Cybermen and had adapted them for _Star_ _Trek_ …

Just how were any of them trusting him?

A hand rested on his shoulder, and from the heat of it he knew it was Ianto’s without looking immediately.  “Whether you believe this or not,” the dragon murmured, “you are our family, and we trust you.  But, I’m not going to pressure you on this.  It’s your life, and you can do what you want with it…unless, of course, you decide you want to end it, then Natasha will most likely find you and beat the life right back into you.”

His eyes were so blue, and so old, and Clint could see all of the dragon’s compassion and trust in them.  The emotions radiated out of them like laser beams, and Clint could feel them scorching him with a fire that actually felt more healing than damaging.  Not able to help himself, Clint leaned into the touch, accepting the heat as cleansing. 

Clint could feel everyone’s eyes on him.  His instincts were telling him that Cap and Stark and Thor would try to talk him out of leaving, to come to the Avengers instead, but the archer wasn’t at all sure he belonged there either, despite having saved the planet with them once.  But, really, he’d done it twice with Torchwood, so that outweighed his rather tenuous connection to the Avengers Initiative.  

Yes, Phil had wanted him in.  He could still remember the day he’d been read in on the Initiative; it had been after Clint had returned from Cardiff, after the Daleks had stolen the entire planet to another sector of space.  SHIELD scientists were still arguing about the mechanics of it, and they’d often come to Clint to ask he’d had any idea of how it had been done.  Well, Clint might have been present, and he could recall exactly what the Doctor had claimed, but that didn’t mean he’d understood it.  Besides, he wasn’t at all certain that it was a good idea to share that sort of thing with anyone not Torchwood, let alone the scientists SHIELD dug up.  Well, there were FitzSimmons, but they were more the exception than the rule, they were both geniuses in their own right and had been read into Torchwood a couple of years ago, even spending time up at Torchwood House.

It had been the same with the CERN debacle, but Clint could honestly say he didn’t know just what had happened then.  He hadn’t even shared Ianto’s dragon status with his lover, and he’d trusted Phil with _everything_. 

In that moment, Clint realised that he’d been a part of Torchwood since that moment in CERN, when he’d seen a man with dragons’ eyes in a concrete tunnel under the ground, running from aliens who’d been pretending to be dead souls.  That, while he’d gone back to SHIELD, his heart had stayed in Cardiff, in an underground base that had subway chic down to a fine art.

His soul, though, would always belong to Phil Coulson.  Nothing would change that.

Clint didn’t know Rogers.  He barely knew Thor, only having met him the one time in Puente Antigua, New Mexico.  Thor had been more Phil’s acquaintance than Clint’s. 

As for Stark…well, Stark might think he wasn’t a part of Torchwood, but it had its hooks just as deeply in him as the Institute did in Clint.  It was just that Stark hadn’t figured it out yet.

For someone so smart, Tony Stark could be remarkably dumb.

“He’s right,” Natasha murmured, getting right up into his personal space and looping an arm around his waist, “I’m not about to let you do something that silly, so don’t even think it.”

Clint knew he could reassure them that he wasn’t about to be that stupid.  Despite having lost his heart to a mad god and his soul to a death that should never have happened, he wasn’t suicidal.  He knew he could still do some good in the world.  Now, how he did that…it was still up in the air.  But he knew which way he was leaning.

“When the hell did it get so maudlin in here?” Stark demanded, breaking the heaviness of the atmosphere in the Quinjet.  Clint wanted to hug him for it.  Phil would have been slightly appalled at how many times in the last several minutes the archer had felt the urge do to that.  Or, he might have felt grateful to Stark for it.  “So, more about Torchwood…they hunt aliens.  They have for ages.  The base I saw was awesome in a subway station sort of way.  I keep offering more tech, but Jack and Falkor here keep turning me down…”

Clint stifled a snort.  Trust the billionaire to look up all sorts of fictional dragons in order to nickname Ianto, the way he did everyone…except Jack, and there had to be a story behind that, he just didn’t know what that was. 

Well, probably JARVIS had done the looking up part, now that he thought of it…

“Just how long have aliens been coming to Earth?” Rogers asked harshly.  Clint could tell he wanted to say something else, but was holding his tongue.  He must have realised it wasn’t the time to get into things too much, which the archer appreciated. 

“There have always been visits from other worlds to Midgard,” it was Thor who answered.  “The Asgard have been coming here for millennia…hence the tales of us in your own Norse legends.  We were worshipped as gods, as I know you are aware.”

“Thor is correct,” Ianto said.  “Torchwood came into being because Queen Victoria was attacked by…well, to put not too fine a point on it, an alien werewolf.  That was when she realised that there was more out there than what was taught, and decided to do something about it.  We’ve been protecting the British Empire ever since.”

“I never really have worked out why Great Britain has had more alien incursions than anywhere else in the world,” Stark groused, as if he was personally insulted by that fact. 

The dragon shrugged.  “Just lucky, I guess.”

“But they also happen outside Great Britain,” Clint argued.  “I met Ianto, Patrick, and Toshiko in Geneva.”

“And that was fun,” Patrick snorted.  “I still remember what it felt like to have all the neutrons sucked out of my body.  And hearing my personal dead coming back and wanting me to join them.”

Clint shuddered at that.  Yeah, it hadn’t been fun. 

Stark was obviously curious, and rambled, “I’ve heard rumours about weird shit at CERN…you guys were in that?”

“It’s classified,” Ianto replied, giving the genius a raised eyebrow.

Stark put both hands up in surrender.  “Whoa, put the eyebrow away!  If you don’t want to tell me, I’m sure Tosh would if I asked.”

“She gives into your whims far too often.  I should never have let the pair of you meet.”

Patrick laughed, and Clint couldn’t help the smile that pulled the corners of his lips upward.  Stark and Toshiko could take over the world if they were so inclined.  Although, he figured that Stark would promptly give his share to Pepper Potts, and Toshiko would give it all up in a day because it would take too much of her time away from her true love, technology.

 _“We’re five minutes out,”_ the pilot in the Quinjet’s cockpit announced.  They’d originally asked Clint if he wanted to fly it, but he’d turned it down, the better to join the rest of the team in the upcoming battle.

The vague playfulness of the banter vanished under the tension that suddenly ratcheted upward.  “We don’t have time to land,” Rogers said sharply. 

Stark was opening up the case his armour was in, and it clanked and rattled as it formed over him, leaving his face clear for the time being.  “I can carry two of you.”

“And I one,” Thor added.  He’d taken Mjolnir off of his belt, hand flexing on the magical hammer’s grip. 

“I have my own way down,” Ianto added.  His ancient eyes turned to Clint.  “You want a lift?”

Despite the pain he was in, Clint grinned.  “You’re kidding, right?”  Then he frowned.  “How is that going to work, exactly?”

The dragon shrugged.  “I jump first. You give me a thirty count, and then follow.  I’ll catch you.”

“Sounds awesome.”  It really did.  Plus, he trusted Ianto when he said he’d catch him.

“Then I’ll cart around Capsicle and Coulson Jr,” Stark volunteered.  “Sparky can take Widow.”

Patrick actually looked touched by the nickname.  Clint supposed he couldn’t blame the younger man; he’d loved his uncle fiercely, and being compared to him would have been the ultimate compliment. 

“Fine,” Patrick agreed.  “But if you drop me, the last thing I’m doing before hitting the ground is blasting your ass with this really nifty gun.”

“That sounds fair.” Stark shrugged as best he could in all that armour.

Rogers looked like he wanted to argue as Natasha called back up to the cockpit, requesting the pilot let down the ramp.  But, instead he said, “Do we have any sort of update on what’s going on down there?”

 _“The NYPD are on the scene, but they’re staying well away,”_ the agent in the pilot chair answered.  _“UN Security has been able to keep the attackers back, but it’s only a matter of time before their position is breached.  Hulk is enroute, according to Agent Sitwell.”_

“Let the UN know we’re coming in hot,” Rogers ordered.  Then he turned to Ianto.  “I’m sure you know your own capabilities,” he commented as the ramp lowered, the wind whistling about the interior of the Quinjet, “but it would be helpful if you’d clue me into just what you can do.”

Ianto’s eyes were twinkling.  “Watch and learn, Captain.”

With those parting words, he walked calmly to the end of the ramp, and launched himself off into freefall.

Clint reminded himself not to let Jack know that his mate just dove out of a Quinjet.  Jack was going to be unhappy enough without knowing that little detail.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

**_8 May 2012_ **

**_New York_ **

****

Steve hated going into a fight with incomplete information.

Certainly, Second Jones had been forthcoming about the Cybermen and their capabilities.  It had been frightening, knowing that there’d been a human-like race out there who’d thought it had been a really good idea to replace every single bit of themselves with mechanics.  Even Stark had seemed a little appalled, and he was an engineer.

But, then, he would know the horrors of it more than anyone else, just because he _was_ an engineer.

Steve had asked questions, which Second Jones had answered forthrightly.  When he’d enquired about whether or not the humans inside the armour could be saved, the man had gotten a sad look on his face, and had said no.  There was nothing left of the people they’d once been.

He’d thought so, after what he’d heard, but it never hurt to ask.

What was surprising, though, was the idea that there’d been some sort of alien hunting group out there, and that they’d been around for over a century. 

Steve really hadn’t given much thought about aliens before the Chitauri, but it only made sense that the human race wasn’t the only intelligent life form out there in the universe.  It just hadn’t been high on his list of priorities, not until Loki had brought his own personal alien army to New York. 

But now…it had seemed like a whole new world, only to turn out not to be the case at all.  Aliens had been coming to Earth long before Loki had gotten it into his head to conquer, and apparently no one had known it except for this Torchwood group. Not even SHIELD, at least for a while, if the inferences made were true, and he had no reason to doubt Jones, or the man’s son-in-law for that matter.  Both of them seemed pretty honest, even if Jones himself was some sort of alien; at least he was helping humanity and not trying to conquer it.

But the supersoldier was certain there was more to Jones’ story than Steve’s own pretty vague suppositions.

There was so much missing.  Steve could add things up.  Jones was older than he looked.  Thor seemed to treat him with utmost respect, and claimed he wasn’t human.  Stark knew him well enough to come up with nicknames for him…although they were nicknames Steve, with his near complete lack of 21st century entertainment trivia, just wasn’t understanding.  Barton had worked with him, and it was obvious he considered Jones family.  Jones had been friends with Agent Coulson, and while Steve hadn’t known the SHIELD agent all that well, he’d obviously been a good man. 

Everything was telling Steve that he could trust Second Jones.

And so, he did.

Within reason.

But he didn’t know anything about what the man could _do_.

So, when Jones casually stepped out of the Quinjet and into open air, Steve’s heart slammed so hard in his chest he couldn’t breathe for a moment.

However, no one seemed at all concerned that a man had just launched himself into freefall without any sort of parachute…which, to be honest, Steve had done himself, so he really couldn’t judge.  In fact, Thor decided that some sort of war cry was a really good idea, grabbed Romanov up in one arm, and tossed Mjolnir forward, letting the hammer pull him and his armful of assassin along for the ride.

“Saddle up.” Stark called out, chipper as anything, Patrick Delaware already grabbing onto the armour, the really big gun slung around onto his back.  Stark held his free arm out, waggling his fingers at Steve.  “C’mon, Cap, we don’t want to miss the show.”

Barton, with a wild grin on his face, promptly shouted, “Thirty!” then flung his own self out of the Quinjet, also without benefit of one of the parachutes that lined the bare bulkheads of the plane.

Steve, not understanding a damned thing about the situation, let Iron Man grab him and carry him out into open air. 

Just below him, he could see Jones falling toward the city below, Barton about fifty feet away from him but catching up.  But, as Steve watched, a golden glow surrounded the plummeting Torchwood Second.  The glow expanded and grew what looked like wings.

When it faded, it had left a dragon behind.

To Steve, this made way too much sense, even as his mind boggled at the idea that dragons were _real_.

Not that he would have ever thought, “dragon”, at any point in his albeit short acquaintance with the man…well, the mythical creature.  That was just too…weird, he supposed, as he watched the dragon that was Ianto Jones catch a whooping Barton in his claws and to settle the archer on his broad back.  Steve heard laughter, and turned to glance at Delaware, who was watching it all with an indulgent expression on his face, clutching Iron Man’s armoured shoulder as if his life depended on it…which it did, really.   

 _“Lucky bastard,”_ he heard Stark over the tiny in-ear communicator that the genius had handed them all.  Jones had turned it down, saying it wouldn’t work for him.  Now Steve could see why.

Jones was _majestic_.

And he was the Last, from what Steve had overheard.

Leathery wings snapped out, and the dragon soared over the spires of New York City, emerald green scales glittering like gemstones in the sunlight.  Suddenly, Steve wished he could sketch this, to capture this moment on paper forever, knowing instinctively that he was seeing something rare and precious and it was about to be exposed to the rest of the world because of a dragon’s sense of honour and need to protect the innocents that were under attack far outweighed the need to keep himself hidden.

He thought of that odd scale in Agent Coulson’s casket, and figured out exactly who had left it there.

Thor was flying beside Jones, cape whipping out behind him, Natasha snug in his grasp.  It looked like she was speaking to Jones, but Steve couldn’t hear the conversation over the wind, and she obviously didn’t have her comm turned on yet. 

 _“Tell Eragon I want a ride sometime,”_ Stark went on.

Barton’s soft laughter echoed over the comm.  _“I wouldn’t let Jack hear you put it that way.  You know he gets jealous.”_

 _“He just denies it,”_ Delaware answered.  _“After all, he’s an enlightened 51 st century guy!”_

Wait…what?

 _“Should we be saying that sort of thing over an open comm?”_ the Black Widow warned quietly, now deciding that switching the little comm on was a good idea.

 _“The security on these things is air-tight,”_ Stark scoffed.  _“The only ones hearing us are those of us currently present.”_

 _“Yeah,”_ Barton chimed in, _“but Cap doesn’t know about Jack and his time-travelling wiles.”_

There was sudden silence, into which Steve drawled, “I do _now_.”

The laughter that got him was gratifying.  Steve really wanted to ask about these so-called ‘time travelling wiles’ and just why Jack – who was the Director of Torchwood – was here from the future. 

Mostly, he wanted to know if there were flying cars in the future.  He was promised flying cars, and had yet to see one.

Well really, there was more he questions about.  But first, he had to decapitate some alien cyborgs bent on taking the United Nations.

The immense building was in sight, glass shining in the afternoon sunlight.  Up this high, things looked perfectly normal, but the closer they flew the more Steve could make out the chaos at the base of the tower.  Barricades had been set up, making an exclusion zone at least twelve blocks in every direction, except for the river side, where there seemed to be a fleet of police and Coast Guard craft blockading the East River from both directions.

The damage to the building looked extensive.  The flags were missing, their poles broken and bent.  There were obvious blast points on the façade, glass shattered all over the pavement below from the tall tower as well as the shorter building next to it…Steve wished he knew what both of them were called, but then he really didn’t know a lot about the UN, only the basics.  It had all been built after his time.

He made a mental note do to some research on the city that used to be his home, and would be again. He’d missed a lot being on ice for seventy-odd years.

The plaza in front of the smaller building was filled with cops and what looked like Army troops, and they were managing to hold off the dozen Cybermen that were firing on them, in an attempt to get to the UN.  Unfortunately, their guns weren’t doing any good; they were just barely keeping them at bay, and Barton – no, he was in full Hawkeye mode in that moment – called out over the comms that there were more of the aliens converging on the site of the rather pitched battle.

“How many?” the supersoldier asked, knowing his teammate’s eyesight was second to none.

_“I count 30, Cap.  They’re coming up from the subway.”_

If Jones had been correct – and really, Steve had to reason to doubt – then those would be people that had been taken by the Cybermen and converted.  He wished he could save them, but knew it would be a lost cause.

There was something inherently creepy by the precision in which the Cybermen moved.  Steve had seen a lot of armies on the march, but nothing could compare with the march of the Cybermen.  The inhumanness of it sent a chill down his spine.

“Put us down in the plaza,” he directed Iron Man.  “Thor, you and Widow join us.  Hawkeye…you and Second Jones fly air support.  I assume since he’s a dragon, he comes with the ability to breathe fire?”  Jones didn’t have a comm or else Steve would have asked him directly.

_“You’d be right about that.”_

“Then, light ‘em up before they can get any closer.  Iron Man will be joining you and the rest of us will keep the ones here from gaining any ground.”

 _“Copy that,”_ came responses from both Barton and Stark.

As Steve watched, Hawkeye practically pounded on Jones’ shoulder, and the dragon responded, turning into the direction that hard thumping indicated.  Giving a tremendous roar, Jones was off, gaining a little more altitude. 

In seconds, Iron Man had deposited Delaware and Steve behind the battle lines, and was gone again in a roar of repulsor to join the dragon and the archer in the sky.  Thor set down a little more gently, putting Widow lightly on her feet.  “What would you have us do, Captain?” the god of Thunder asked, seemingly happy to be taking orders.

“We take care of these, and any that get past the others.  Keep them from getting any closer to the UN.”

The sound of a helicopter zooming overhead had Steve looking up; and he swore to himself when he noticed it was the press, trying to get decent camera angles of the battle.  Shaking his head at the journalists’ sheer stupidity, he stormed over to the nearest police officer, a tall, older man in plainclothes.

“Get on your radio and warn them off,” Steve ordered, in full Captain America mode.  “They’ll be in the way.”

There was another roar, this one sounding of pure frustration, as the news chopper managed to swerve in Jones’ way; the dragon was graceful in the air, and dodged out of the helicopter’s path.

“Get that chopper the fuck down, _now_!” Delaware growled.

The plainclothes’ man’s face went red with anger.  “Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?” he snarled.

Steve held out a hand to his teammates, needing them to let him handle this.  “We’re the Avengers.  And we’re the ones who are going to save you, and every single person in the UN.  So you’d best let us do our jobs.”

“Well, that’s not any Avenger _I’ve_ seen,” the man waved an arm toward the dragon, who looked about five seconds away from forcibly removing the helicopter from the scene.  And Steve wouldn’t have blamed him.

“He’s one of us,” Natasha put in, her face placid, as if she was simply discussing the weather.  “Now, you should do what Cap says and have them pull back, or else our friend there will lose his patience and bat that thing out of the sky like the annoyance it is.”

Steve got the feeling that Jones wouldn’t exactly do that, even though he looked as if he wanted to from what the supersoldier could tell. 

Another roar had them all spinning, and with a landing that had the concrete shaking the Hulk slammed into the midst of the Cybermen attacking the line.  Several of the metal aliens went flying, Hulk taking much pleasure in ‘smashing’ any of them that got in his way.

A high, whining sound had Steve ducking a little, but the obvious shot from the scattered Cybermen lines had been aimed up…toward the helicopter.  The bright bolt struck it in the rear rotor, and the vehicle shuddered, smoke belching from the damage caused by the Cybermen’s shot.

The helicopter began to spin out of control.

Steve didn’t even have time to react to it before several tonnes of green fury reached out with impressive talons and snared the crashing helicopter, crushing the cockpit a little but keeping it from smacking into the ground.  Hawkeye, still on the dragon’s back, held on with one hand, although Steve doubted very much that he was in that much danger of falling; Jones wasn’t jerking all that much as he carefully set the wrecked chopper down on the grass.

“Damn,” the detective gasped.  “It just…”

“He,” the supersoldier corrected.  “ _He_ just saved the crew of that helicopter.  Now do you believe me when I say he’s an Avenger?”

The cop nodded, his eyes wide in awe as Jones took to the sky once more.  “What is he?”

Steve didn’t even think.  “He’s called the Torchwood Dragon.”

That had such a ring of _rightness_ in it.  He couldn’t have said where it had come from, but he wasn’t about to argue with whatever instinct had caused him to call Second Jones that.  A tingle shivered through his body, as if it had been meant to be the moment he’d named the dragon.

No…he’d _Named_ the dragon.  Steve was willing to put it down to magic, now that he actually believed in such a thing.

Another whine – this one was a little deeper – snapped out from close by, and the Cyberman that had fired the deadly shot exploded somewhat spectacularly.  Steve glanced over to see Delaware straightening from the posture he’d assumed, the rather large gun he’d taken resting on the hood of the closest police car.  His face was calm and his hands steady, but his voice was choked when he murmured, “That one is for you, Uncle Phil.”

Steve gave him a nod in agreement.  The Avengers had come together because of Phil Coulson.  They’d fought Loki in order to avenge him.  The gun that Delaware was holding was supposedly the one Agent Coulson had taken with him to face down that mad god, and he’d gotten one good lick in before he’d died. 

Patrick Delaware hadn’t been with them to face Loki.  It was obvious he was using this chance to get his own licks in.

Steve completely approved.  “For Phil Coulson.”

He could hear the acknowledgement over the open comms, everyone chiming in their agreement.  Something else that felt _right_.

Then Steve made the call.

“Avengers Assemble!”

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

**_8 May 2012_ **

**_Los Angeles_ **

**_Interlude – Josh Gates_ **

****

Josh Gates sighed, glancing around his apartment, looking for something – _anything_ – to keep himself occupied.

A month ago, his series, _Destination_ _Truth_ , had been cancelled by the network.  It had been a bit of a surprise; the ratings had been good, but the suits had claimed that it had become too expensive to renew for another season.  Josh could understand it, but he didn’t have to like it.

So, he’d found himself at loose ends.

He’d done a bit of research in his first days of unemployment.  He had a lot of options: finally going back to get his Masters’; plugging this new show idea he’d had awhile back and letting his agent shop it around; writing another book; or just kicking back and being bored off his ass until his savings dried up.  That last option wasn’t one he particularly liked, because he was one those sorts who needed to be active, but he honestly didn’t know what he _wanted_ to do at the moment.

Of course, since he’d been unceremoniously fired, the world had changed _a lot_.

Although, he would have been a hell of a lot more surprised by aliens in New York if he hadn’t already seen aliens in Cardiff.

Still, he’d been glued to the TV, watching the aliens – the Chitauri – fight the newest vigilante team in town…the Avengers.

Sure, he’d known about Iron Man and the Hulk.  He’d been out of the country when the press conference where Tony Stark had announced to the world that he was the one in the armour had happened, and so he’d missed that, but he’d dug up every bit of footage he could find after he’d gotten back to the States.

As for the Hulk…well, when that shit in Harlem had gone down, no one had been able to escape seeing the coverage. 

But, the man dressed as Captain America…the press was claiming that he was the real deal, and the tall guy who resembled a surfer dude in crazy armour was actually some sort of alien god…well, that was just weird.  But it tickled the archaeologist part of him that this was apparently the basis for all the legends about Thor, the Norse God of Thunder.  He could get some sort of paper off that topic alone!

Then there were the two no one seemed to get any sort of good coverage on – the archer and the red-headed woman.  No one knew anything about them at all, and they’d done a really good job at staying out of the limelight.  They were probably part of SHIELD, which seemed to be a thing, now.

The times were changing, and to be honest Josh wanted to be a part of that.

He just didn’t know how to go about it.

Maybe he could go to New York.  It wouldn’t be his first time in the Big Apple.  But where would he even begin to look?  Would they even want a former television host as an employee or teammate?

It was on the third day after the alien attack that he got his answer, although he was positive a lot of other people wouldn’t have understood it.

He was at his laptop, doing a little research into some post-doc work, when the TV – which he’d left on for sound, not because he enjoyed soap operas…no, shut up, he really didn’t – when the regularly scheduled programming was interrupted by breaking news from New York.

Sitting forward on his couch, Josh watched as weird silver robot-men attacked the UN building.  Luckily, security forces had gotten into place to protect the UN from the siege, but they’d been fighting a losing battle even as the local police showed up.

Eventually, though, the Avengers came out to play.

And, with them, was a dragon.

Josh felt like he suddenly couldn’t breathe.

Somehow, he _knew_ that dragon.  Knew that it was the same dragon he’d gone to Cardiff several years ago to find.  There had been vague rumours about it ever since, but he’d been unable to track them down, the dragon like some sort of ghost that haunted the city…and once London, if the stories were true. 

Josh had wanted to go back after that London sighting in 2009, but understood why he couldn’t, especially after all that mess with the kids chanting in unison and all the wild stories that had cropped up from that; it had taken the governments of the world coming together to explain things, even though Josh was quite sure it had all been a pack of lies. 

He still could recall the talk that that Torchwood person, Ianto Jones, had given him about the planet not being ready for that sort of thing.  Yes, he’d been talking about aliens at the time, but it really applied just as much to dragons as well, which Jones had been more than happy to point out.

However, the man hadn’t actually _confirmed_ the dragon story.

Now, there was one, and it was fighting aliens on camera, in front of the United Nations building, with the Avengers.  This wasn’t a fuzzy photo taken from a low-end camera phone at dusk, one that resembled more a monster from bad a 50’s sci-fi flick than a real creature.

And there it was, saving a helicopter full or reporters from crashing.

He was practically vibrating with excitement as he was a witness to the battle, really trying to catch more glimpses of the dragon.  There was someone riding on its back, shooting arrows with deadly accuracy into the eye sockets of the robots, blowing some of them up while others simply crumpled to the ground like puppets with their strings cut, and Josh realised that was the archer from the battle with the Chitauri. 

It brought it all back to him: that night in Cardiff, when Torchwood had made his entire crew forget about the aliens that had arrived on Roald Dahl Plass just to get Josh’s autograph and to have their pictures taken with him, because in the future he was famous for his show and they’d come all that way just to see him, since they’d known he was going to be there.  He remembered that Captain Harkness, who spoke their language, claiming he’d learned it in school…which had opened up all sorts of theories in Josh’s mind about just who the man in the authentic RAF greatcoat had been.

But Jones…he’d talked as if from experience, and Josh had understood what he’d had to say.  It had made him wonder just who Ianto Jones was, and Josh had remained curious for quite a long time, before coming to the realisation that he’d probably never really know the truth.

Sure, he’d tried to do some research, but he’d come quickly to the conclusion that the internet was a cesspit of exaggeration and innuendo where Torchwood was concerned.  Nothing he’d found was in the least bit helpful.  The only way he could see getting answers was to fly back to Cardiff and confront Jones about everything, but to be honest…Josh hadn’t wanted to risk his memories.  Whatever they’d used hadn’t worked on him, but he couldn’t take the chance that it would a second time.

Besides, Jones had been proven right when he’d claimed that humanity just wasn’t ready.  He’d seen it, with his own eyes, how the majority of the planet had rationalised away the Earth being stolen and dumped into another area of outer space, and how they’d been attacked by those flying things that had looked like one of Josh’s British grandmother’s pepper grinders.  It had been incontrovertible proof of aliens out to blow shit up but to everyone else…Josh still was having trouble swallowing some of the theories.

The fight ended at some point, but Josh had no real idea just how long it had been.  One of the reporters on scene was speaking with some sort of detective, and the archaeologist found himself leaning even farther forward when the woman – who didn’t have a hair out of place or any sign of dirt on her fashionable suit – asked just who the dragon was…who was coming in for a landing on the plaza outside the UN, whoever the hell it was who’d been lucky enough to ride on it sliding down from his perch. 

Josh laughed in sheer glee when the policeman called it the Torchwood Dragon.

It was a sign.

Within an hour, he’d packed his bags and was heading toward the airport.

He had a plane leaving for Cardiff to catch.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

**_8 May 2012_ **

**_New York_ **

****

Ianto came in to land with a gentleness that was completely opposite of what Clint had been experiencing during the battle, and for some strange reason he was a little disappointed in that.

Once the dragon had settled onto the concrete of the plaza in front of the UN, Clint slid off, touching lightly down onto steady ground, tired in a way that only intense action can cause. 

He’d lost track of how long it had taken them to put down the Cybermen.  Stark had traced their communications signals back to an abandoned section of subway tunnel, and the genius, Nat, Cap, and Patrick had moved into the section of New York subway, taking out the Cybercontroller that had been relaying information to the troops that had had tried to take the United Nations.

Leaving himself, Ianto, and the Hulk to decimate the rest of the Cybermen on the surface.

Clint really thought the Hulk had had the most fun, judging from the roaring and bellowing and how many times he’d yelled, “Smash!”.

The archer circled around to Ianto’s front, taking in the green scales of his friend, searching for any sort of injury.  He thought the dragon had taken a couple of hits, but he couldn’t see anything.  “You alright?” he asked, not wanting to tell Jack just how his mate had gotten damaged if he had.

Ianto shrugged, his blue cat-like eyes crinkling with internal laughter.  “They didn’t hurt me, I promise.”

Clint had to trust him with that, but then he didn’t look as if he was in any pain.  The dragon sank into a crouch, legs tucked up underneath him much like Moses did when he was content.  The archer watched Ianto’s tail for any sort of flickiness, but there wasn’t any, so either everything really was fine or else that let the cat analogy out.

“You’re not gonna change back?” he asked curiously.

“I don’t think so,” Ianto answered.  “I’d like to keep my human form out of it, if possible.  The journalists are getting enough of an eyeful as it is.”

He had a point.  The press was out in full force, now that the battle was over.  Clint could see at least half a dozen cameras pointing in their direction, and he knew the only thing that was keeping them from mobbing Ianto and demanding answers was the police cordon and Captain America, who’d returned from the hunt in the subway triumphant and was standing with Stark, who had his helmet off, answering as many questions as was being shouted at them. 

Patrick had slipped by the pair, holding that damned big gun, muzzle pointed toward the ground, and was sauntering toward them.  There was a smear of something blue on his cheek; from experience, Clint knew that was some sort of fluid that had the tendency to spurt from a damaged Cyberman.  His suit, once pristine, was wrinkled but it didn’t seem to be stained.  Clint figured it was a good thing that Nat had arranged for his tac suit to be on the Quinjet, because he was less than sartorially prefect as well, but his mess was more windblown since he hadn’t actually gotten close to any of the Cybermen for them to vomit blue goo on him.

“We going to leave them to it?” Patrick asked as soon as he got close enough.

“I’m considering it,” the dragon replied.  “We’re very much surplus to needs at this point, and getting out of the public eye as soon as we possibly can will mean less of a snit Jack will be in when we get back to Cardiff.”

“Well, Jack’s gonna be in a pretty impressive snit, after what Rogers did.”

That had both Clint and Ianto staring at Patrick.  In his human form the dragon had a very impressive eyebrow, and he somehow managed to achieve the same expression even without the brows his current dragony face owned.

“I was standing next to him when he called you the Torchwood Dragon to that nice police detective who’s now giving a statement to the press.”

“Bloody hell,” Ianto grumbled.  “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Afraid not, Boss.”

Oh, this wasn’t good _at all_.  Not only had Rogers admitted that Ianto was a true dragon, but he’d brought Torchwood into it.  What made it worse was the fact that they hadn’t had him sign any sort of Secrecy Act yet, so he wasn’t bound by the laws that governed the knowledge of Torchwood’s existence.  Still, from what Clint had been told, disseminating anything Torchwood was an act of treason within Great Britain…however, they weren’t in Great Britain at the moment.  He wondered just how the rules would apply in this case, and how quickly Ianto would have Rogers wear his wrist out signing his life away.

“I think it would be best if I snuck off and changed, then we could get away.  I certainly don’t want to have to give some sort of press conference.  Her Majesty would certainly look down on that, and the last thing I want to do is make her _more_ unhappy than she’s bound to be over this.”

“Hey!”

The shout had all three of them turned toward it.  Clint had thought it had sounded like a kid, and he’d been right: the boy looked to be all of ten or twelve years old, in some sort of school uniform.  He was running toward them, being chased by a woman who looked to be terrified at having to run after the kid, and who could blame her?  There’d been a pretty major battle just fought, after all.

The boy stopped right in front of Ianto, his brown eyes staring in awe.  “Are you a real dragon?” he asked breathlessly.

Clint could see the moment Ianto’s big old dragon heart melted at the cuteness.  “I am,” he answered, voice a bit more of a rumble than usual.  “And who might you be?”

“Mister Parker!” the woman yelled.  She stalked right up to the boy.  “I told you not to run off, it’s too dangerous!”  She was giving Ianto a mighty side-eye, as if she wasn’t sure the dragon wasn’t going to eat the little kid.

The boy gave her a rather impressive eye roll.  He’d be a champion at it when he got older.  “I’m fine, Ms Anderson.  He’s not gonna eat me.”  His head craned upward, so he could get a closer look.  “You’re not gonna eat me, are you Mr Dragon?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Ianto assured both him and his guardian. 

Ms Anderson didn’t look convinced, but the boy nodded, accepting Ianto’s word.  “I’m Peter.  Peter Parker.  We were here on a school trip, and got stuck inside the UN.”  He cocked his head quizzically.  “How can you fly?  Your wings don’t look big or strong enough to carry all your weight.  Not that I’m saying you’re fat, but you have to be heavy ‘cause you’re so big.  The ratio of wingspread should be a lot longer for you to be able to even get off the ground…”

Ianto seemed to be charmed.  Clint, surprised at the little boy’s rather intelligent questions, glanced over at Patrick, who was grinning.  “You know, from what I understand, Tosh asked some of the same questions, and she’s a lot older than that kid,” the Torchwood operative murmured.  “Listen to Ianto’s answer…”

“That’s because it’s magic,” the dragon replied.  “Do you believe in magic, Mr Parker?”

“No,” he said assuredly, but then his face went confused.  “Well, I didn’t until I saw you.  I wanna be a scientist when I grow up.”

“And I think you’ll be an excellent one.  But always keep an open mind, that way you won’t miss anything that might not fit into what you think of as science.”  Ianto settled down onto the concrete, so his rather large eyes could be closer to the remarkable Mr Parker.  “I have a friend who’s a great scientist, but she believes in magic as well.  She doesn’t think there’s any reason not to try to understand both, as they both have a place in the world.”

Young Mr Parker considered that.  Clint could tell he was an awkward child, but hoped he’d grow out of that.  “Can I climb up on your back?”

Ianto chuckled.  Clint couldn’t help it, and joined in with Patrick.  “I don’t see why not.”  His ancient eyes glanced toward Ms Anderson.  “Although your teacher would have to agree.  After all, she’s been tasked to look after you.”

“Can we, Ms Anderson?” came a chorus of requests from another dozen children, who’d actually managed to sneak up on all of them.  Clint was a little upset that his situational awareness was crap at the moment, but all those little imploring faces would have melted solid steel.

“I promise they won’t fall,” Ianto assured her.  “My friends here,” he raised the shoulder closest to Patrick and Clint, “will help.”

All of those young eyes looked right at them.  Clint felt completely up to the task, hooking his bow over his quiver to keep it out of the way.  “Who’s first?” he asked.

That got him twelve “Me!”’s from all those kids.  Only Peter Parker was quiet; he looked a little down, as if he felt like, now that the other children were there, he’d be left out.  If he was as smart as he seemed, then Clint could understand it.  Kids like him could be mercilessly teased by their peers.

Not that Clint had any experience with that sort of thing, not having been in school since the sixth grade.  But he could remember being picked on by older kids, although for different reasons. 

So, he did the only thing he could do.

Clint walked right up to Peter and swung the kid up onto his shoulders, careful not to let him get poked by anything pointy on his back.  Peter gasped, then laughed, holding on tightly as the archer carried him back toward Ianto.  “You asked first, so you get to go first.”

“I never get picked first,” the child whispered in wonder as Clint lifted him onto Ianto’s back. 

“This time, you did.”  Clint showed him how to sit comfortably.  Ianto didn’t move, but it wasn’t an unnatural stillness, either.  “What do you think?”

“I’m gonna fly one day,” Peter promised.  “It might not be on a dragon, but I’m gonna fly!”

Somehow, Clint didn’t doubt him in the slightest.

Years from now, one of Clint’s favourite pictures of Ianto would be the one that one of the major magazines printed, in an article of the Battle for the United Nations: of Ianto, curled up on the hard concrete of the UN Plaza, with children crawling all over him.

In the far future, when Clint was reborn and became that dragon’s son, he’d remember that photo on the day when a horde of dragon children would do the same, as he and his mate and their own children and grandchildren stood and watched as their patriarch let himself become a living jungle gym to an all-new generation of dragons on a planet of their very own.

But that was the future. 

For now, he stood back and watched as the kids clambered all over the dragon, laughing and playing and experiencing the wonder that learning about magic could bring, letting it ease the pain in his heart just a little.

 

**********

 

“I hate to interrupt,” Patrick did just that, “But Jack’s been ringing me non-stop and I don’t think he’s going to take ‘I’ll have him call you back’, as an answer anymore.”

The children were tiring out, and Clint had been helping them down to a waiting Ms Anderson and a pair of chaperones, one of them Peter’s Aunt May.  She’d seemed pretty blasé about the idea that a dragon had landed in New York, but Clint knew native New Yorkers, and knew that there wasn’t a lot that would faze them…especially after two alien invasions in less than a week.

“You really should talk to him,” Clint smirked.  “You know he’s only going to get madder the longer you put it off.”

“I’m not going to have an argument with my mate out in public,” the dragon grumbled.

“Then go to Stark Tower.”

Clint glanced over his shoulder, not surprised to see the rest of the Avengers standing around them.  He’d known they were approaching; but then, his situational awareness had apparently decided to come back on its own. Or maybe it was just cute kids that he had a blind spot for.

“You can land on the platform where JARVIS takes care of the armour,” Stark continued.  His helmet was off, tucked under one arm, his dark hair damp with sweat.  “Once you get there, you can change back without all these reporters looking on.  Then you can call Jack and get the fight out of the way.  Although, I wouldn’t mind being a fly on the wall for _that_.”

“You so sure about that?” Clint wanted to know, laughing when Stark pulled a pout that would have made Jack proud.

“Well, maybe not.”

“I didn’t think so!”

“You have a mate?” Thor was curious.  “Are you not the Last?”

“I am,” Ianto confirmed, “but Jack is human…ish.”

“Slick, Boss,” Patrick teased.  “You just let out that Jack is more than human, without giving all of his secrets away.”

“Like you did on the way here?” Clint put in, smirking.

“Excuse me?” Ianto rumbled, narrowing his eyes in Patrick’s direction. “Just what have you been saying, Patrick?”

“Calm down,” Stark waved a hand at Ianto’s head.  “He was only commenting on Jack’s 51st century time travelling wiles.”

Patrick didn’t even look sorry for his security _faux pas_.

“I really would like to meet this team of yours,” Rogers said.  He’d pulled his cowl down, and his hair was just as matted down as Stark’s.  Uniforms like that were obviously hell on the style.

“Perhaps,” the dragon allowed, “although I will tell Jack that you were the one who called me the Torchwood Dragon.  I’m still not certain what Her Majesty is going to have to say on the subject.  She’ll already be displeased that I’ve been so careless as to show up on camera.”  He gave a somewhat toothy smile, and if Clint hadn’t known Ianto as well as he did, he’d have been a little freaked out by all that danger on display.  “Although, I’m positive we’ll all be working together again someday.”

“Mind if I fly back with you?” Patrick asked.  “I’m sure Alice will want to yell at me for a while, too.”

“Not at all.  However, you might want to leave the gun.  I’m not quite sure Director Fury would want you absconding with it.”

It was Patrick’s turn to pout, but then he hated having to give up new toys that could cause rampant destruction.  “I’ll make sure Fury gets it back,” Clint offered.  He held out his hands, and Patrick reluctantly handed the weapon over.  To be honest, he really didn’t want to even touch it knowing that, with his last breath, Phil had used it on Loki.  It hadn’t done all that much good, in that circumstance.

“We’ll talk later, Clint,” Ianto promised, giving the archer a knowing look.  “Let me know when you’re ready.”

“I will.”  Despite himself, Clint freed up a hand to rest it against the dragon’s warm scales, recalling one of those very emerald scales resting in Phil’s coffin.  It was considered an honour to give a dragon scale away, and he knew that Phil would have been touched by the gesture.

Not that he knew Ianto had done it.  After all, Phil was dead.

Damn, that would never stop hurting.

Patrick tugged Clint into a hug.  “Come home,” he whispered.  He pulled away, leaving a hand on Clint’s shoulder, his dark eyes sad.  “You’re family.  Please…come home.”

Clint knew then that he would end up in Cardiff…or London, in the end.  Years ago, Clint had become part of the Torchwood family, and he just had to admit to himself that the only things that had kept him in SHIELD were Natasha and Phil.  One of those was gone and, judging from Natasha’s gentle nod, she was letting him know it was time to move on, that it was fine for him to leave.

Letting him go, Patrick used Ianto’s bent leg to climb up onto that broad back.  Clint stepped back to allow the dragon’s wings room to unfurl and, with a powerful thrust of those heavily muscled legs, Ianto was flying off, and Clint watched as he vanished into the distance, beyond even what his eyes could make out.

The gathered kids all started cheering and waving.

“You’re gonna go to Torchwood,” Stark interrupted his reverie.

Clint glanced toward the genius.  Stark’s eyes were knowing, and he couldn’t deny it.  “Yeah, I think I am.”

“You should,” Natasha stepped up to him.  “It would be good for you to get away from all the memories you have with SHIELD.  Take some time to heal.”

“You will be missed, my friend,” Thor added, “however, you must do what is the best for you.”

Banner shrugged.  He’d changed back into his human form, and he looked exhausted.  One of the cops had found him a raincoat that was embossed with the NYPD shield on the back.  “Thor’s right.  I don’t pretend to know what anyone’s talking about, but if you want my opinion…go with what Thor said.  And Natasha.”

It was as if the Avengers where giving him their blessing.  Clint had only fought with them twice now, and yet it was as if they somehow knew him. 

The only one who didn’t look happy was Rogers.

“I do wish you’d stay,” he admitted, “but I also know what loss does to a person.  You’re an integral part of this team, and Agent Coulson wanted you on it.  But I also know what the death of a loved one means.  Sometimes you just have to get away from what reminds you of them.  I suspect the Avengers does just that.”

It was funny, but Clint hadn’t realised it until Cap had said it, but Rogers was right.  Phil had wanted him on the Initiative, and if his ex-lover had lived then Hawkeye would have gladly stayed.  But now…he really needed to get away from SHIELD and New York and the Triskelion…and the Avengers.  And, even though Patrick would always remind him of Phil, it was a different sort of reminder: it was acceptance and sharing the same pain that Clint himself was experiencing.

None of these – well, perhaps Stark, a little, and Natasha – understood what losing Phil meant…although Rogers seemed to be coming a bit close.  But then, the supersoldier had lost everyone he’d ever known practically overnight.  If anyone would get it, it would be Steve Rogers.

“Like Ianto said,” Clint murmured, clearing his throat around the lump that had suddenly grown there, “I’m sure we’ll be teaming up again at some point.  This planet’s only gonna get more and more popular with the aliens, from what Jack’s said, so we’re all gonna be needed.  The Avengers, SHIELD, and Torchwood.  It’s really only a matter of time.”

“I really want to meet this Jack person,” Bruce commented.  “He seems to know a lot.”

That had Stark laughing.  He clapped Banner on the shoulder, the raincoat making a rustling sound under his fingers.  “You have no idea, Big Guy.”

Natasha took the opportunity to step right up to Clint, resting a hand on his cheek. “You need this.  To heal.  And SHIELD is going to be a poisonous place for you now.”  She gave him a small, private, smile.  “I’ll come and visit.  Cardiff is lovely this time of year.”

“Sure,” he laughed a little thickly, “if you like rain.  And it might not even be Cardiff in the end…London has a long and wonderful history of alien invasions.  That could be where I might do the most good.”

This felt like the right thing to do.  He’d have to turn in his resignation with Director Fury, and Clint knew that he wasn’t going to like it, but at the same time the archer thought Fury would understand.  After all, he’d been friends with Phil for decades, having recruited Phil into SHIELD’s ranks and trained with him.  Fury didn’t trust a lot of people, and as he was fond of saying he could count the number on one hand… and wasn’t afraid to lose any fingers.  This was going to be equally hard on Nick Fury; he’d lost the man he’d called his One Good Eye. 

As the Avengers made their way back out to help with the clean-up, Clint knew this was a new start.  It would be just what he needed. 

Clint was looking forward to it.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, here we are, at the end of this story. Next Up, "The Trouble with Nessie", which also details Josh's first ever mission with Torchwood.

 

**_8 May 2012_ **

**_Washington DC_ **

**_The Triskelion_ **

**_Epilogue_ **

****

Nicholas Fury stared down at the man in the casket, surrounded by the trinkets the family had left behind, and sighed.

Reaching toward the dead man’s face, Fury gently peeled away the photostatic veil, erasing the features of one of his best friends and revealing the true one underneath. “Thank you for your service, Agent Jenkins,” he murmured.  “You served SHIELD one more time.  Now, we’ll send you home.”

Fury knew that there had to be a body.  Coulson’s family wouldn’t have rested until they’d had one.  Agent Richard Jenkins had also fallen during the attack on the Helicarrier, and his body type had been close enough to Coulson’s to stand in for his fallen One Good Eye.

Who should have made it to the Guest House by now.

Fury only trusted about a handful of people.  And, despite what he’d often said, he really didn’t like to chop off metaphorical fingers.  He was going to need Coulson; something was going on that he couldn’t figure out, and he couldn’t lose someone who’d always had his back.

He could only hope that the TAHITI procedure would work.

He hadn’t been exactly honest with Harkness when he’d proposed the exchange programme, that they hadn’t done anything with all the alien shit they’d inherited from the SSR.  And Fury himself had a little more experience than most with aliens…he did wonder sometimes if there was anything in Torchwood’s vaunted Archives about the Kree and the Skrulls…

The hard part of TAHITI would be after the actual procedure: convincing Coulson not to tell his family _or_ Barton.  If something big was gonna go down – and Fury was fairly positive it would at some point, even if he didn’t know what it was – then maybe that vague threat could make the agent keep silent.  There was no way they could excise all those memories, not if he wanted Coulson to remain of use.  This would also be the first time they were going to attempt only a partial mindwipe, and Fury didn’t want to take so much that Coulson would be suspicious.  That included those of his family and friends.

“This would have been a lot easier if you hadn’t gone and got your skinny white ass killed,” Fury groused quietly.  Then he glanced down at the dead agent who’d taken Coulson’s place at the funeral.  “Not you, Jenkins.  Although it would’ve been better if no one had gotten dead by Loki.”

With delicate fingers, Fury pulled out the ultrasound scan that Alice and Patrick Delaware had placed inside the casket.  Now this…this was gonna be the hard part, if the Director had any doubt.  Coulson had been looking forward to the birth of his great-niece, so much so he’d practically bought out a damned baby store as soon as they’d announced the bun in the oven. 

Yes, getting Coulson not to tell anyone else – even Barton – was gonna be _easy_ compared to this.

Fuck.

At least the recovery from everything would have Coulson out of touch through the rest of Alice’s pregnancy.  And, maybe, if things didn’t go to hell in a handbasket like Fury’s gut was telling him it was going to, then he could give Coulson the word to read his family in at some point.

It wasn’t about clearance.  Hell, Patrick had a higher clearance than anyone but Fury himself…in the UK, it was most likely even higher.  Plus, if Barton did decide to go to Torchwood – and if Fury was going to be honest with himself, it was a foregone conclusion that he would – then he’d be given a clearance level equivalent to Hill’s. 

Keeping Coulson’s existence to Level 7 only wasn’t going to be a good enough excuse to keep the man quiet. 

Well, he had time to think about it and come up with a good enough reason. 

“Sir.”

Fury didn’t turn, recognising Hill immediately.  “What is it?”

“The plane is ready to take Coulson back to Wisconsin.” 

Her tone was somewhat disapproving, and the Director kept her from seeing the massive eye roll that only a one-eyed man could achieve.  “Leave all the remembrances in the coffin when you send Agent Jenkins to his own family.  Make sure the casket is sealed.”

“Yes sir.”

He did sigh this time, turning to face his second in command.  “You got a problem, Hill?”

“Coulson wanted TAHITI shut down.  The side-effects were far too extreme.”

“I’m aware.”

Hill narrowed her eyes, not backing down from his glare.  “Then why do it?  Why put a man you claim to be your friend through that hell?”

“Because I need him.  He can never know, Hill.  You saw what happened when the test subjects knew they’d been brought back to life.”

It hadn’t been pretty.  Fury really had considered shutting down TAHITI, because Coulson had threatened to resign over it and the agent never did anything unless he was absolutely certain of the outcome, but in the end Fury couldn’t risk it.  They’d needed a fall-back plan, and this was it.  It was the best they had, and he told Hill that shortly, succinctly, and rather profanely.

She didn’t look at all impressed by his explanation.  “If that’s what you think, sir.”

Fury didn’t want to argue with her anymore.  He was tired, and he was missing his friend.  Instead, he began moving all the tiny objects, so they could get Jenkins out of the casket.  He’d made all the arrangements already; the extra weights to make sure no one suspected the casket was practically empty, and having another casket for Jenkins ready to receive his body.  He stepped back once he was done, allowing the two men Hill had brought with her – both Level 7s, and given some cock and bull story about it being too dangerous to let Coulson’s family take him, after he’d been stabbed with a so-called magical spear.  It helped that SHIELD had contingencies for such cases, and that both men would have found that excuse totally believable. 

Once they’d placed Agent Jenkins in his own coffin and had wheeled it away on the cart they’d put that heavy-ass casket on, Fury bent over the now-corpseless box and carefully placed a thumb drive on the pristine white satin of the pillow, next to the bloody Captain America card that Rogers had actually signed and placed in ‘Coulson’s’ pocket.  His eyes caught on the arrow with the single rose tied to it, and if Fury had had a sympathetic bone in his body he would have regretted everything he’d done to try and break Barton and Coulson up. 

How Barton had figured it out, the Director didn’t know, but then he’d always been able to see more than anyone ever gave him credit for.  Fury had to wonder if Coulson had cottoned onto it as well. 

Well, he wasn’t about to ask. 

With one final look at the small gifts that he’d left in the coffin, Fury turned his back on it and ordered Hill to seal it up.  It was time to get this show on the road.

She still didn’t look happy, but he knew she’d follow his directions.  Hill had always been a good soldier, after all.

Hill gave him a sharp nod. “I’ll take care of it.”

Fury began to walk away, but he stopped and turned back toward his second in command.  “Hill.”

She’d been perusing the objects in the casket, one hand on the lid, ready to close it.  She didn’t move, but then Fury didn’t expect her to.

“This is all going to work out,” he told her.  “Just you wait and see.”

Her shoulders, which had been stiff, suddenly dropped.  “Sir…Nick…I only hope you’re right about that.”

Yeah, so was he, but he wasn’t about to say that.  Not when she was bound and determined to point out just how wrong his actions really were.

Spinning around, Nicholas J Fury strode out of the room they’d wheeled Coulson’s casket into, and went back to work.

 

_Fin_

 

 


End file.
